


SilverFlint Tumblr Prompts

by SageMasterofSass



Series: Requests [6]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Caring!Flint, Crack, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Flint constantly staring at Silver's mouth, Flint realizing he's in love, Fluff, Jealous!Flint, Kidnapped!Silver, M/M, Protective!Flint, Protective!Silver, Sick!Silver, Silver can cook, Silver in makeup, Silver is and always will be a little shit, Silver singing, Silver with tattoos and piercings, Smut, Tumblr Prompts, and is prissy about it lmao, angsty past!Silver, at least the two song ones are anyways, baker!Flint, cuddling and sleeping together, cute songs, daemon AU, meeting Thomas in a dream, nightmares about drowning, no matter what, season 4, shitty flirting, song ficlets, tattoo artist!Silver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 25,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things you said that I wish you hadn't

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> #17 flint/silver  
> 17\. things you said that i wish you hadnt
> 
> Okay, so this turned out a little less shippy than you probably wanted?? Sorry, I got the prompt and I could only think of the ending of season two. Anyways, enjoy!

Silver’s eyes are wide and blue, his thick lashes settling again and again on his cheeks, like being awake is almost too taxing for him in his condition. He’s only looked once at the stump where his leg should be, and even then it was over the blanket and not at the injury itself, but Flint thinks he’s probably going to ignore it for as long as physically possible. Maybe longer. Knowing Silver, once he does acknowledge it though, he’ll use it to his advantage and get the crew wrapped even tighter around his finger.

Flint doesn’t care about Silver’s missing limb though, not right now.

All that he cares about is the fact that Silver just _lied_ to him, straight to his face, like fluttering his eyelashes would keep Flint from seeing the deception for what it is. He excepts this from Silver, usually. But not when it comes to the gold.

Rackham and his crew probably already have it, but Flint can’t figure out why exactly Silver would have allowed that to happen. He doesn’t have any ins with Rackham. Then again, if he thinks Flint doesn’t know he sold the information of the treasure’s location off, he’ll probably point Flint in Rackham’s direction and encourage him to do the dirty work for him.

Flint wishes Silver hadn’t said that, hadn’t lied. If he’d told the truth they could have come up with a plan, put their heads together to bring Rackham down while also preparing Nassau for the arrival of the English. They could have kept their tenuous but advantageous alliance.

Now that Flint knows Silver will play him like he does every other man aboard the ship, Flint will have to kill him. He’d never trusted Silver, but he had trusted his greed and his intelligence, his willingness to work with Flint, but that’s gone now. He’ll allow Silver to come up with some scheme to win the gold back, and then run him through before the man can cause any more trouble.

Silver falls back asleep minutes after he’d woken, comfortable in the big bay windows of the captain’s cabin.


	2. Song ficlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flint/silver one jump ahead from disneys aladdin  
> — acanthafire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of stupidly fun to write.

Flint knows crime. He knows what it’s like to be on the right side of the law, and then the wrong. He knows what it’s like to be turned on by his fellow countrymen, to be banished, chased out, sentenced to hang. They’re heavy, near unbearable experiences.

Silver also knows crime, but it’s not the same kind that Flint is so intimately familiar with. Silver is all gleaming smiles and windswept curls, stealing and laughing and coasting through life with nothing but his own quick wit. The crimes he commits are simple, self-indulgent, they involve nothing bigger than his own desires and whoever he happens to piss off when trying to obtain them. It’s a breathless kind of existence, always balancing on the knife’s edge, one lie away from death, another away from gold and other treasures.

Honestly, Flint shouldn’t find it as refreshing as he does.

He thinks maybe he should be angry with this younger man and his sly ways, because Flint knows the weight of true crimes, true sins, and yet here Silver is, trying to throw himself headlong into the same troubles but doing it in such a way that the weight never even touches his shoulders. If he’s successful he’ll get everything he’s ever wanted and his conscious will barely register a single problem.

Flint isn’t angry though, and he isn’t jealous. Lord help him, he’s _charmed._


	3. Song Ficlet (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> I just want to send you the most ridiculous songs for this pairing... so silver/flint but the sea shanty song from ice age 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking cried while watching the video, thinking about Flint’s crew singing a song about him like that.

The first ship he’d stowed away on is leaving a blazing path through the waves, or at least Silver thinks it is. He’s crouched in the cargo hold of the pirate ship that had attacked them, and he doesn’t regret his abandonment for a single second. Loyalty to anything but your own continued survival and goals will only get you killed.

He has no clue who this crew is, whose flag he’s sailing under. Frankly, Silver doesn’t really care. That is, until he’s being dragged bodily from his hiding place and thrown onto the main deck at the feet of a black clad man, red-brown hair tied up and a smear of blood on his cheek left over from what was surely a fierce battle (judging by what he’d seen fleeing from one ship to the other).

The captain stares down at him like Silver is something he found sticking to the bottom of his boot. “The fuck do you think you’re doing, stowaway?” he asks. “We didn’t spare any of the rest of your crew, tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Silver probably should have thought this plan through better, in hindsight. He stutters, tries to get his feet underneath him so that he can face this man on even ground, but the two pirates to either side of him just push him back to his knees again. Right, okay, time to do what he does best.

“I wasn’t part of their crew!” he insists, shoving curly black hair behind his ears when it tries to fall over his face.

“Oh?” the captain says, tone laced with fake interest. “Where did you think you were going to go then? You had to know that ship was passing through pirate waters; not even the captain thought they’d reach their destination.”

Actually, Silver hadn’t known that. But that’s okay! He can totally work with this. “I was hoping it’d get caught. I…I want to be a pirate, to join a crew!”

The men circled around him, on the deck and above on the rigging, all let out quiet laughter. The captain tilts his chin up, a wicked gleam of teeth showing through his smile. “Do you know who I am, boy?”

“He’s Captain Flint!” calls one of the pirates, and the muttering and laughter of the crew joins.

“He’ll eat you alive,” says another voice.

“Scourge of the seas!”

“Best of the worst!”

“You wouldn’t last a day on this ship.”

Louder and louder the crew gets, all callous words and sneering faces, threats and promises of things worse than death. They all silent when the captain, Flint, raises a single hand however, the noise tapering down as cruel eyes watch curiously to see exactly what their leader will do.

Silver doesn’t know what he wants to happen at this point, but he’ll take whatever option keeps him alive the longest.

Flint smiles again, hard edged and cold. “Welcome to the crew.”  


	4. Song Ficlet (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ellelan asked:  
> Want another Silver/Flint song prompt ? :) 'Wicked game' by Chris Isaac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NO ITS SAD. Also I deliberated for way too long on who’s perspective to write this in, but I finally decided on Silver.

In the beginning, Silver had maybe a promise to himself. It hadn’t been very big or even particularly difficult, he just swore that no matter how attractive Captain Flint was while he was commanding his crew (and even more so later with the snarl of his lip, blood on his face, eyes wild), Silver could not sleep with him. Simple. Easy. Just don’t proposition a man who probably could and would kill him for even suggesting it.  
  
But then Silver actually became a part of the crew.  
  
Only a month later Silver was changing his promise from just sex to actually falling in love. It was a pretty foreign concept, still was if he was being honest with himself (something he tried not to do very often). But it was necessary, because his eyes were always drawn to the twist of Flint’s mouth when he was angry, the breadth of his shoulders, the sway of his walk. It wasn’t just physical though, it was the intelligent and damn near cruel way he manipulated the people around him, his wit, and the bone-dry humor that was usually sarcastic in nature. Silver couldn’t allow himself to fall for those things, no matter how appealing or amusing they were.  
  
He still can’t fall in love, even now with his limping gate and high position among the men, doesn’t want to be dragged down by those emotions. Silver isn’t sure he’s got much of a choice in the matter anymore though. He never wanted to fall, yet he’s pretty damn sure he already has.    
  
And he’s kind of pissed about it. How cruel is his own heart to turn against him like that? How cruel is Flint himself for making Silver feel that way in the first place! Their world is too volatile and uncertain for him to be pining, and Flint is too closed off, too cold to the world for Silver to even dream of starting anything with him. Cruel and wicked. To lose someone before he ever even had the chance to have them. 


	5. Adrenaline rush + Song ficlet (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellelan submitted
> 
> silverflint prompt : post battle adrenaline rush .
> 
> and a silverflint song prompt - Beyonce’s ‘Drunk in love’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably not as smutty as you were looking for, but I hope you enjoy it anyways!

The battle is won.

Behind them their enemy’s ship burns even as it sinks. Beyond that are two rowboats full of sailor trying to put distance between them and it, the ones who chose to take their chances at open sea rather than stay on a pirate ship. The ones who fought just a little too hard have been tipped over the side, and the few who’d chosen to join the crew are in the brig until their loyalty can be trusted.

Flint stands on the quarter deck, feels the sway of wood and water beneath his feet, watches as his men start their celebrations. Their prize had been fat and slow, her hull sunk low by the bounty she was carrying. They’re certainly not kings by any stretch of the imagination, but they _are_ extremely wealthy men now.

The problem with catching a prize like that though? They’re always well armed. The Walrus was maneuverable enough to avoid getting broadsided by the other ship’s forty canons, but even then the crew had to fight their way onto the opposite deck through a near endless sea of soldiers. Flint’s blood is still roaring through his veins, just like it is in his men’s, high on blood lust and gold and the feeling of a dangerous weapon in their hands. It’s heady, addicting, and Flint can tell the pirates won’t be calmed until long into the night, after they’ve celebrated and worn through all that primal emotion. So he lets them climb the masts and bellow, turns a blind eye to all the alcohol they took from the other ship and are now passing amongst themselves, pays no head when they drag the great metal stove from the galley on deck so that they can have a raging bonfire to throw things into and dance around.

What Flint does do is ensure that his ship is going to be safe for the night. She’s drifting, not anchored, but her sails are lowered and there’s hardly any wind anyways so she bobs on the water more than glides. He double checks the moorings and her rudder and their position to the closest piece of land, and all the while he ignores the way his blood roars and his body hums and his mind wants to fade into pleasant static, let his hindbrain do the talking.

By the time he joins the men on deck again, the sun has set completely and the revelries are well under way. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t join them, not if he wants to keep their respect, but he can lean against the railing and watch them through half-lowered eyes. Feel the electricity of a hundred roaring men in the air, their adrenaline still running strong long after the battle is finished.

It doesn’t take long for Silver to find him. (It never does.)

He’s sweaty and laughing and though he’s stumbling like he’s drunk his eyes are bright and clear as he props himself with a gusty sigh next to Flint on the railing. The light of the fire catches on slick skin, makes him vibrant as he pushes his hair away from his face and smiles broadly. At Flint’s raised eyebrows he laughs breathlessly, says “They were trying to teach me how to dance.”

“Where they successful?”

Flint can feel the heat coming off the other man when he shifts closer slightly, so that he can prop his fake leg in front of himself and gesture expansively to it. “Not particularly, no,” and rather than looking self-deprecating or upset, he just continues to smile crookedly.

It makes Flint raise bow eyebrows this time, and he looks the man up and down slowly, watching the way Silver seems to be swaying further and further into his personal space. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not as much as you’re probably thinking,” Silver responds easily, and his eyes are tight in the corners with mischief. Before Flint can even question that answer, Silver sways into him fully, exertion-warm body searing into Flint everywhere they touch down his left side. A hot hand presses against his chest, heavy but not being used as leverage to move away; if anything it feels more like Silver’s trying to keep him in place.

For a brief second there’s a roaring that fills Flint’s ears, blocking out the rest of the ship as his gaze fixes firmly on Silver. His heart is pounding fast,  predator-like, and Silver can feel it through the hand on his chest judging by the way his grin turns sly, blue eyes going slightly hooded.

“You were pretty enthusiastic during the fight today,” Silver comments idly. “I saw you. Didn’t even go for your gun, went straight for the sword.”

He’d been right there with his men, and the quarters had been so tight on the deck of the other ship, soldiers and pirates on every inch. Firing his gun would have been dangerous, and would have taken too long. So he’d used sword and fists and elbows until the deck was littered in blood and bodies and filled only with the heavy panting of the victorious.

He knows what Silver’s trying to do, but two can play at that game.

“Were you in the fight?” he asks instead of replying. There’s always a fifty/fifty chance of whether or not Silver will even be able to make it across in the initial boarding wave. Sometimes he does, and is right there with Flint and the crew, and other times he only makes it over once the violence is already over. It’s a constant point of aggravation for Silver, but his eyes go dark and his lips pull up in a smirk.

“Yeah, I made it over.”

The hand on Flint’s chest twitches, like Silver wants to curl his fingers around the hilt of the sword Flint’s been teaching him to use. He’s better with the little dagger he keeps on his person at all times, but it’s unrealistic for larger battles. Still, Flint is sure it’s tucked safely against Silver’s hip right now, held in place by the tight waistband of his pants.

“It was a good fight,” Flint comments, swings his gaze to the fire and the men on his ship. He can’t ignore the line of heat up his side, but he doesn’t have to watch the way Silver bites at his bottom lip and his expression goes glassy, like he’s reliving the battle. Once upon a time Silver would have been shaky and unsettled over it, so unused to violence, but not anymore. He’s spent too long in Flint’s orbit, but Flint can’t find it in himself to regret that.

The crew must have found something in the cargo hold both large and flammable, because as Flint watches several shadows throw a large chunk of _something_ into their bonfire, their cries echoing and multiplying as the flames stutter and then explode upward in a great flash of light and sparks.

The hand on Flint’s chest tightens again, clawing slightly at the fabric, and between the faint hint of nails against his skin and the almost war like cry of the crew, Flint surges forward, body molten, limbs buzzing. He turns whip-fast and pins Silver against the railing, hips pressed in tight together, his palms on the wood to either side of his quartermaster.

Silver blinks slowly at him, lips parting slightly on a shaky exhale.

“What are you trying to do, Silver?”

Blue eyes flicker over Flint’s face before settling on his mouth. “And here I thought I was being fairly blatant.”

There’s another crash behind them, more cheering. But the flickering light of the fire doesn’t penetrate past the shadow of Flint’s body on this dark corner of the ship, Silver hidden from sight by his captain’s bulk despite their similar statures. Which is why Flint leans in for a harsh, demanding kiss. Though he’s sure the crew has heard them in the act more than once or twice, he doesn’t particularly like to share, especially not the sight of Silver all lose and pliant against him, pupils eating up the blue of his gaze.

When Flint pulls back Silver laughs lowly, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “What is it with you and violence? It always works for you,” he muses, wrapping his arms loosely around Flint’s neck.

Flint makes a point of sliding a thigh between the quartermaster’s, and raises an eyebrow when he feels the evidence of Silver’s own excitement hot against his leg.

“I never said your violence didn’t also do it for me,” Silver scoffs. His expression is one of forced nonchalance and slight annoyance, but Flint can feel the tiny hitches in his hips as he tries not to rub against his captain’s thigh. “Besides, I think I’m starting to see what you like about it. Less about the blood, more about the excitement.”

“Something like that,” Flint hums, ducking his head to nip at Silver’s throat.

Silver tips his head back sighing in pleasure, but soon enough he's pushing Flint away with a hand on his cheek. “C’mon, I think the bed in your cabin is calling us.”

For a moment Flint considers the offer, then counters it with a sly, “I think the desk might me calling a little louder.”

Silver’s grin is toothy and wide, and he slips one hand down to tangle their fingers together. “Lead the way, captain.”


	6. Making the first move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> If you are still writing Silverflint prompts, I guess y'all agree that we need a ff about Silver being tired of Flint's silent pining and tricking him into making the first move...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legitimately had to google how to make someone confess to you rip

Silver’s gotta say, he’s getting pretty damn tired.

Tired of sly looks and heavy words and all the fucking _eye sex_. He’d like to have _actual_ sex at some point this century, thank you! But no, Flint’s gotta be all weird and repressed and just…well, Flint, and honestly Silver’s pretty sure if he makes the first move that he’ll just be shot down without a second thought. So he needs Flint to have a little revelation all on his own, and then seek Silver out once he’s come to terms with it. (He says when, but it’s probably more of an _if_ , but that’s just depressing and Silver likes to try and stay optimistic).

So he tries to get Flint to realize he’s in love with him.

The first plan isn’t all that successful. Silver spends a whole day talking longingly about the time he and Muldoon used to spend together in the hopes of making his captain jealous. In the end though, it’s a bittersweet experience and just makes Silver feel pretty bad, and Flint gets all pissy at him for upsetting himself.

The second plan…well, it goes a little something like this.

Silver, Flint, and Billy are all standing on the quarter deck, and the sun is high in the sky beating down on them. The wind is brisk and fills the sails, the sounds of fabric snapping and men shouting as they tend to the ropes creating a perfect backdrop of noise as they converse idly. When Flint is distracted by a sailor coming to give report, Silver takes his opportunity. He turns so that he can lean against the railing, elbows casually resting against it and body angled towards Billy.

“So,” he starts, long and drawn out, and Billy raises an eyebrow at him.

Flint’s still busy talking, so Silver puts on one of his best smiles and turns on the charm. Unfortunately, Billy doesn’t really respond with anything more than sarcasm and disbelief (which is actually pretty fortunate, Billy is pretty much family and Silver’s not really sure how he would have reacted if he’d responded at all). It involves some teasing and lowered eyelashes and Silver crossing his arms over his chest the way he does with women because he knows it draws attention to his biceps (and they are _damn fine_ , thank you very much).

When Flint does finally notice what’s going on, Silver is basically batting his eyelashes and Billy is laughing at him and Silver is pretty sure the whole thing is a bust. But then Flint grits his teeth, grabs Silver by the arm and snarls out a, “Can I talk to you? _In private_?”

The captain doesn’t even wait for an answer, just starts herding Silver off the quarter deck and towards his cabin. When Silver glances over his shoulder at Billy he can’t help laughing at the look of dawning realization on Billy’s face, and throwing him a little wink.

It’s about fucking time.


	7. Silver cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silverflint prompt (+ Billy): Silver bitching about the new cook and his shitty atempts at cooking. And Flint and Billy stearing at him like "WTF? You cant cook for shit...?" And then Silver dissapears for the rest of the evening, but reapears with the best smelling food Flint and Billy have ever smelled, and Silver stands there like super defencive "I can cook... I only bother for people I like..." Please? I really want to read more where Silver can cook C:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve seen this prompt before on a few other blogs! Hope I filled it as well as they did =3

The rhythmic beating of metal against wood is loud in Silver’s ears, a steady thump-thump-thump, but even louder is his own angry muttering.

“Fuckers…think they know anything…show them…shove it in their smug faces.”

He’s hunched over a counter, knife steady in his grip as he chops up vegetable after vegetable, eyes focused on his work but practically unseeing because he’s seething too hard. Flint and Billy thinking he couldn’t cook, the assholes! He hadn’t fared well on the ship or on that damn beach because he’d been working with some really primitive tools, okay? Who even cooks over an open flame anymore? Pirates, apparant-fucking-ly! He knows perfectly well how to cook, thank you very much, when he has some proper fucking tools at his disposal, like an oven and a stove and actual ingredients instead of the non perishables that pirates store in their ships’ hulls.

Which is why the second the Walrus had made port, Silver had been off as fast as his bad leg could carry him in search of a working kitchen where he could effectively blow their minds. See if they’re still singing the same tune when they’re eating his minced meat pie.

The kitchen is the one located in the back of the brothel, and scullery maids edge around him as they go about their business. Max had given him permission to be back here, so they can’t kick up a fuss, but he can tell they direly want to since he’s taking up so much room.

He can’t really bring himself to care. Besides, he’s in and out of there in about three hours with an entire meal carefully packed away into a wicker basket tucked under his arm.

The Walrus is still anchored just off shore, and Silver knows Flint planned on seeing to some business on deck before ever disembarking, so he and a few other men who came ashore row out to her together. He has to keep the basket tucked close to him to keep the contents from jostling, and the other sailors keep giving him weird looks, but he’s still too pissed to really care that much about it.

The moment he’s on deck again, Silver storms the captain’s cabin, barking at a passing crewman to fetch Billy for him.

Flint raises an eyebrow at the dramatic entrance, leaning back in his grand desk chair and observing Silver quietly.

Silver just plops his basket, albeit carefully, right in front of him. He can tell he has Flint’s attention by the curious look the man gives the wicker, but he doesn’t reach for it just yet.

“What is this?” he asks instead, and Silver rolls his eyes at the mild show of paranoia.

“Proof,” he retorts hotly, just as Billy enters the cabin, eyes wary as he glances around.

Rather than wait for Billy to also question him, Silver just gestures at the wicker basket and steps back so both captain and sailor can get to it. They both kind of look like they think he’s gone crazy or something, but they open the basket tentatively.

Silver can visibly see the moment the smell of the food inside hits them, the way they pause and the gears in their heads stall for a second as they try to process it. And then all at once they’re digging into the basket, pulling out stew, pie, and crumble enough to take up the majority of the desk’s surface. They’re not the most complex or complicated dishes, he did only have a few hours to make them, but they’re certainly miles above the usual slop they eat while at sea.

“Where did you get all this?” Billy asks wonderingly. He’s already snatching up a spoon and shoveling stew into his mouth before Silver can even respond laughingly with, “Made it myself.”

Billy’s look of surprise, with his mouth full, mid-chew, eyes wide, is priceless. Flint’s little facial twitch that means he’s impressed without wanting to be is even better though, and Silver grins full and wide.

“You two thought I couldn’t cook, but do either of you even know what I did before I became a pirate?”

Neither speaks or moves, and Silver continues with a little scoff, “Of course not, why would you. I served in a kitchen,” to this day it’s still the only honest work he’s ever done, “and you don’t do that for years without picking up a thing or two.”

Billy glances down at the impressive spread, and then back up again, finally swallows his mouthful of stew before speaking. “Why the hell haven’t you been cooking like this from the beginning then?”

“If you could do this, why did I have to keep you from poisoning my men?” Flint adds on, a little bitterly Silver notes.

Silver rolls his eyes and hopes he doesn’t sprain something because he’s just that done with these two. “I can cook, but only with a proper stove and oven. You had me trying to roast a pig over an open fire! Of course I wouldn’t know what I was doing!”

Flint purses his lips in thought and Billy stares thoughtfully at the food before turning to his captain. “We’re investing in a real stove,” he says decisively. “And he’s going to teach the new cook how to use it.”

Silver just smirks.


	8. Discussing Silver with Thomas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you still accept prompts? *__* ... Well, in case you do, here's one: Flint meeting THOMAS in a dream. And they discuss Silver... and Flint admits he really cares for that dumb cook ... I have other 1000 prompts, but I had to start somewhere, I guess! ;) Great fics on AO3, btw! I really loved your "requests" series!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself sad while writing this, but it’s also pretty sweet so there’s that.

The shifting blue/grey of the landscape is depressingly familiar. It’s not foggy endless fields this time, or the deck and cabin of the Walrus, but still he recognizes his surroundings. The dining table and fire place and the thick curtains, once deep in color, now washed out and dull.

He’s in the Hamilton’s dining room.

Flint has dreamt of this room before, of conversations had here once upon a time, but it’s been years since he’s allowed himself that reprieve even in sleep. He turns in a slow circle, taking in the way the edges of the room are blurry and indistinct, like his subconscious has forgotten some of the finer details.

“James.”

Forcing himself to breath out slow and deep, Flint closes his eyes and doesn’t turn around to face that voice. He’s not sure he could even if he wanted to. But he can’t ignore the phantom weight of a hand appearing on his shoulder, steady and strong.

“James,” Thomas says again, a touch of pleading in his voice.

Flint finally turns to face his once lover, and grits his teeth against the sight of that familiar face, that soft smile and warm countenance. Like the room Thomas is dull and grey, but he’s not smudged in any way, Flint’s mind filling in all those details he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget, everything from the way Thomas preferred to style his hair to the fabric of his favorite coat.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Thomas.” His voice comes out small and cracked, and the dead man smiles kindly at him. His hand is still on Flint’s shoulder, strong fingers squeezing him gently in reassurance.

“You’re not looking very well, James,” Thomas continues, but Flint shakes his head, finally managing to find his tongue.

“I’m not the same man I was before,” he says. “James Flint is dead.”

The look Thomas gives him is not quite pitying, but it is sad. His hand releases Flint shoulder and slides down his chest, right over his heart. “He’s still here. Captain Flint hasn’t taken over completely yet.”

Flint tears himself away from the dead man, turning his back on Thomas so that he can pace the length of the dining table. “What would you know?” he snaps without turning around.

“I know.” The words are soft like an admission of guilt, and Flint glances over his shoulder.

Thomas stands with his hands clasped casually behind his back, head cocked barely to the side as he regards Flint with a somber expression. “I know you, I know the world you’re living in now, the pain you’ve been in.”

It’s not what Flint wanted to hear (he doesn’t think there’s anything he’d be happy to hear right now, though) and he turns away again, shoulders hunched.

The quiet sound of footsteps approach him, but they don’t get too close. “James, look at me.”

Flint has to steel himself, but after a minute of patient silence he does finally spin slowly around to face his dead lover.

“There’s something I want you to do for me.”

“You’re dead,” Flint can’t help but spit. “What could you possibly want from me?”

The corner of Thomas’ mouth ticks up in a smile, the way it always did when he was amused with something James had said. “John Silver, your quartermaster.”

The name is a surprise, and Flint’s gaze turns wary. “What of him?”

“I think we both know how you feel about him.” The words, combined with the way Thomas steps forward again, both start to make Flint feel trapped. His eyes dart around the room once, considering, before he remembers this is a dream. Nothing is holding him here but his subconscious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Thomas smiles again and shakes his head. “Don’t play dumb. You forget how well I know you, James. He intrigues you, doesn’t he?”

Flint can’t help but relent a little. “Of course he does, I can’t predict his actions.”

“And you enjoy his company.” Not a question this time, but still Flint responds.

“I suppose. He’s intelligent and witty, something I can’t say about most of the crew.”

“You’re starting to trust him as well.”

“He’s proving himself to be trustworthy, yes.”

Thomas’ smile grows, sliding into touching distant once again as he murmurs, “He’s an attractive boy, isn’t he? Rakish smile, strong build.”

There’s a beat of silence as Flint realizes exactly how he’s been trapped, eyes narrowing. And though he already knows the answer, he still grits out, “What are you getting at?”

Slowly, Thomas reiterates, “We both know how you feel about him, James.”

Suddenly the world around them shifts, colors running and blending, walls crumbling without a sound. Thomas glances around but doesn’t seem particularly frightened or upset. He just smiles. “Guess our time is over for now. Just remember what I said, okay? I only want you to be as happy as I once made you.”

Flint wakes with the sensation of cool, familiar fingers on his cheek. He blinks rapidly, dispelling the lingering sleep from his eyes until he can focus on the figure swaying gently above him with the rocking of the ship.

Silver smiles crookedly, one side of his lips pulled up further than the other. “Good morning sleeping beauty. Get up, we’ve got a crew to run.”

In his chest Flint’s heart gives a painful little squeeze and then starts pounding faster than before. Goddamnit.


	9. Captain kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> infcmous said:friend! could you write a fic where flint has a maJOR kink for silver calling him captain and silver realizes it and basically eggs him on and flint has enough and just ROUGHS HIM UP WITH HIS MOUTH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sent that to the wrong account there babe! but it’s okay, I wrote it anyways ;)

“That’s a question for the Captain,” Silver says calmly, and the sailor he’s talking to nods easily and turns to Flint standing right beside him. It’s only because Flint is that close that Silver notices the slight jerk he gives, the way his body tenses minutely.

The quartermaster misses most of the following conversation because he’s too busy trying to figure out what was going through Flint’s mind.

It bothers Silver for days, always on the back of his mind, until another conversation crops up where he happens to call Flint Captain to his face. This time the way his shoulders tense up and his eyes go dark makes _much_ more sense, and Silver can’t help his internal glee.

The next week is a series of Silver randomly springing ‘Captain’ on Flint whenever it seems the man is least expecting it. Watching his breath hitch every time, and his reactions become more and more pronounced, is the most fun Silver has had in fucking months.

Flint holds out longer than Silver was expecting him to, that’s for sure, but a week and a half after Silver starts his little game he finally snaps.

They’re alone in the cabin when it happens, thankfully, and Silver just so happens to say something along the lines of, “Whatever you say, Captain,” while looking up at the man from under his lashes. There’s a moment of thick, intense silence and then Flint is upon him, practically growling in his throat as he backs him against the nearest wall.

“You little shit!”

Silver can’t help the way he leans his head back against the wall and laughs, delighting in the wild look in Flint’s eyes.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, fucking minx.”

Cocking his head to the side, Silver smirks. “Damn right I did.”

The corner of Flint’s mouth ticks up slowly, a dangerous smile that reveals a crooked hint of fang. “You’re going to regret that.” And then he pushes into Silver’s space, all hot mouth, unforgiving strength, and demanding, addicting control. The first kiss is a lot of teeth, but they figure out a rhythm quickly enough, lips and tongues tagging against each other, dragging and pushing and pulling hitching breaths from them both.

When Flint backs off for a much needed breath, Silver’s eyes flutter open. He grins, murmurs “Captain,” and leans into Flint’s next assault.

Best fucking discovery.


	10. Silver the thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write one where Silver have a skill that comes as natural as breathing to him, like lockpicking or throwing knives or something, but he dosn't use them much. and the crew finds out in the most spectacular way, like everyone is kidnapped or something??????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to actually confer with a few other writers to get a good idea for this one, but it was super fun so thank you.

“Took you long enough.”

Silver rolls his eyes and Flint can barely see it in the half-light of the brig. They’re alone, Flint behind the metal bars and his quartermaster bent down in front of the door, presumably to see the lock. Flint was taken prisoner on his own damn ship, thrown down here without a struggle on the condition that his crew receive no harsh treatment.

“Okay,” Silver says, producing a thin key. “I can get you out, but you’re going to have to fight our way to get back up on deck. That’s where the men are, if we can get you up there and cause enough confusion we’ll be able to take the ship back.”

The lock gives a quiet, metallic click, and Silver swings the door open with a grin.

“You didn’t kill the guards?” Flint asks, pushing his way out of the cell and peering down the dark corridor towards the door.

Silver shrugs his shoulders as he closes and locks the door again, so that it doesn’t have the chance to swing back with the swaying of the ship and clang on the metal bars. “That’s your specialty so I figured I’d leave it to you.”

Their voices are hushed as they make for the exit, heads bent close together. “How the fuck did you get the key then?”

Another shrug, a small smirk accompanied by, “I just took it.”

Flint eyes his quartermaster incredulously and then decides he doesn’t have time to try and figure the man out right now. They’ve got more pressing matters at hand. Like taking back his damn ship.

oOo

Later, when the battle is won and the enemy tipped over the sides to feed the sharks, Flint will realize that there had been a series of four guards Silver somehow had to have snuck past, not to mention the one he had to have pick-pocketed to get the key from.

Not so discreetly, he watches Silver plod his way across the deck, one hand held tight to his guide rope, and his boot clacking loudly against the wood with every other step.

How the actual fuck?

oOo

Flint isn’t the only one who’s questioning the quartermaster. On several occasions he’s overheard the crew talking about how while they were captured, Silver had quietly spread the news of what he planned to do, and then simply disappeared without a sound. Nobody was sure where he had gone or how he’d planned on getting to Flint down in the brig, and they were as baffled by it as Flint was.

oOo

The question of pick-pocketing is answered one day when they’re alone together in Flint’s cabin. They’re discussing the navigation of the ship, and it’s an idle conversation at best. Being at sea for long periods tends to get dull no matter where you sail.

But Silver is leaning against Flint’s desk, one hand on the edge to balance himself, and the other is flipping a silver coin between his fingers with deft skill. Flint observes him from where he’s sitting on his bunk, the way the other man is staring into space, head tipped back slightly, obviously not paying attention to the flashing bit of metal sliding between his fingers, under, over, casually slipping into his palm only to reappear again.

Before he realizes it, Flint is mesmerized by the sight. He’s stopped talking completely, gaze fixed on those long, talented fingers. Most of him is simply watching, but his hindbrain…well, it’s contemplating all the wicked things those fingers could do to him.

The coin stops its motion, hidden in the clutch of Silver’s hand, and when Flint looks up he realizes his quartermaster is staring warily at him. “Flint?” he asks, and it’s obvious it’s not the first time he’s said it.  

He doesn’t apologize, but Flint does shake himself a little, offers a “Got distracted,” and though Silver gives him a weird look he also accepts it easily enough.

oOo

Flint snaps the day Silver manages to sneak up on him while he’s up on the quarterdeck. He’s casually leaning against the rail, his attention drifting between men in the rigging and glancing back at the wake of their ship, checking the horizon.

And then all of a sudden Silver is just there, right at his fucking elbow, and if Flint didn’t have nerves of steel he would have jumped out of his skin. As it is he just levels a fierce glare at his quartermaster.

Silver, who had had his mouth open, probably to give report, snaps it closed with an audible clack. “What?”

“I didn’t hear you coming,” Flint growls, and both of Silver’s eyebrows fly up.

“…Okay?”

“ _Why_ didn’t I hear you coming? You have a fucking wooden foot, I can usually hear you a deck away.”

Silver blinks at him for a second, obviously confused, before he finally seems to catch up. Then his little half-smile is bright and amused and definitely more than a little self-satisfied. “I didn’t realize I was still doing that.”

“Doing _what!?”_ the captain snaps, and Silver’s nose scrunches up as he laughs.

“I never told you what I did before I became a sailor, did I?”

It takes Flint a moment to understand the topic shift, but when he does he gestures impatiently for Silver to go on.

Relaxing against the railing next to him with a little sigh, Silver tips his head back and his gaze grows a little glassy. “I’ve been fighting for survival basically all my life. It was either learn how to fend for myself, or die. So I learned. I was an amazing thief, Flint, and I’m not bragging. I could steal bread out from under a baker’s noise and a gentleman’s wallet right out of his coat. And then…” He trails off, head tipping forward as he taps a fist against his bad leg.

“I didn’t realize I hadn’t lost all my skill until you were captured. Now I’ve just been naturally falling back on old habits.”

Flint studies him for a minute and then snorts. “Howell won the betting pool, the crew aren’t going to be happy about that.”

“You were betting on me?” Rather than indignation, Silver’s voice is laced with amusement, and when Flint just shrugs, he laughs again. “Hmm, maybe I won’t tell anyone else yet then. Leave them guessing.”


	11. Bakery/Tattoo Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt list - Silverflint + bakery au, please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took me so long! Last week was my spring break so I took it off to get some rest. I’m back in the game now tho. 
> 
> I decided to take the liberty of expanding the bakery au! Say hello to tattoo artist Silver ;)

 Every morning, Flint wakes up ridiculously early. He takes a shower, drinks a breakfast shake, and walks to work before the sun ever begins to think about rising. The small suburban store fronts are all dark as he moves past them, the glass of their windows smooth and ethereal as they reflect his quiet journey amongst a sea of shadows, highlighted only by the occasional street lamp.

He goes around the side of his building and unlocks the back door, propping it open. The delivery truck will be by this morning and he likes to keep an eye out for it as he goes through his daily prep.

The Bakery, while unoriginally named, is still pretty popular and Flint has a good flow of business day in and day out. Which is why he has to get there so damn early every morning, so he can try and bake as much as possible before the doors open at eight.

Hours later, he takes his dirty apron off and tosses it into the little laundry bag in the corner he takes home with him every night, and goes to unlock the front door. It’s his usual routine, setting up the display cases and the front windows, pulling all the little wrought iron chairs off the tables and setting out a few centerpieces, but his attention is caught and held when he happens to look up and glance across the street.

There’s another store front across the way, and for a long time it sold hardware. It was owned by an elderly man who came to The Bakery three or four times a week to buy treats for his grandkids, but he recently retired and the shop had lain dormant and quiet for a long time afterwards.

Until now, apparently. Flint can see movement through the window, but thanks to the rising sun, the dust accumulated from disuse on the glass, and a light on within, he can only make out the shadow of a single man. He’s moving around though, obviously setting the place up as he keeps disappearing into the back and then reappearing pushing large, dark shapes across the floor. Working with shadows alone Flint can’t really tell what kind of store it’s going to be, but he sits and watches the process for a good twenty minutes before a timer in the back goes off and he remembers he’s got things he needs to be doing.

It turns out to be a rather busy day, and Flint doesn’t remember the mystery of the new store until he’s closing up and once again he sees that shadow moving around inside. This time though, the windows are clean, and Flint can make out a few more details than before. Like the fact that the man has thick, curly, dark hair, and that it looks like he’s wearing flannel. But the setting winter sun and Flint’s own desire to clean up and get home keeps him from seeing anything else.

By noon the next day, a small group of workers has set up ladders outside the storefront and put up a new sign. Curling black letters that spell out ‘Silver Ink’. The entire time, the man with dark hair stands with his back to Flint and watches them work, giving brief instructions to move a letter one way or another. He’s got broad shoulders and a wide stance with arms crossed over his chest. When he turns his head, Flint can just catch the impression of thick scruff growing along his jaw.

The woman standing at his counter turns to see what Flint is watching and then makes a thoughtful hum, drawing Flint’s attention. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a tattoo parlor here before,” she muses and then smiles sunnily at Flint. “I’ll have two of the apple turnovers. Glazed, please.”

For a month, Flint watches the new tattoo place quietly from across the street. There are two other employees besides the dark-haired man, a bigger, buffer dude with a bald head and a full beard, and a dark-skinned woman with tall boots and an intelligent air about her. The three argue sometimes, but they seem to work well together, each of them with their own little ‘stations’ set apart from each other by waist-high walls. The town is small, but not tiny enough that Ink doesn’t receive its fair share of business that first month, people filtering in and out of the glass front door with regularity.

Flint is just getting ready to tidy up The Bakery for the night after that one month mark, when he looks up and happens to see a familiar face going through that door. He doesn’t know the man personally, but he does recognize him as someone who has been to Ink on several different occasions, and who storms out each and every time in an angry huff.

He’s a short guy with close cropped hair and odd round glasses, and tonight Flint knows that there’s only one person over at Ink, the dark-haired man, because it’s early in the evening and it’s the weekend, meaning Ink is on a nocturnal schedule.

The Bakery isn’t technically closed yet, Flint’s got an hour to clean up the front and see to any last minute customers. But rather than clearing out the display cases, Flint ends up watching as the two men across the street start arguing, gesturing widely and with anger.

And then suddenly the shorter man is swinging, connecting a solid punch that Flint swears he can hear all the way where he’s standing.  

He’s moving before he even knows it, pausing only to flip the sign on his door from Open to Closed, and then he’s marching across the pavement, off one sidewalk, up onto the other, and then right into the store he’s been observing for so damn long.

By now the dark-haired man has collected himself and backed off, holding his cheek in one hand and looking like he’s two seconds away from returning the blow. The shorter man is yelling, on and on about something Flint can’t even catch, but the whole room falls silent when he slams the door shut behind himself with an over loud bang.

The shorter man turns around, eyes narrow and cruel behind his odd little glasses as he eyes Flint up and down. Flint belatedly realizes he’s still wearing a black half-apron, the one he puts on in the afternoon when he’s not cooking as much, and that it’s got a few batter smears on it. With his hair in disarray after an almost full day of work, and his stance aggressive, he probably looks like a lunatic.

“Can I help you?” The dark-haired man recovers first. This close Flint can see that his eyes are a beautiful bright blue, but they’re also rather wary.

“I think he needs to leave,” Flint responds, nodding at the shorter man. The man’s eyes narrow further, and his lips part like he’s planning on speaking.

A firm voice cuts him off. “Dufresne. He’s right. You should go now.”

There’s a thick, tangible silence hanging in the air. But after a second, the shorter man, Dusfresne Flint is guessing, turns on his heel and stalks angrily out of the store. The dark-haired man follows, but only to watch him until he turns the corner, and then to flip his own sign from Open to Closed.

He sighs, slumping against the closed door. With one hand he rubs tiredly at his face, and then winces when he presses where his jaw is starting to swell, unattractive purple visible beneath the coarse hair of his scruff.

“Are you alright?”

The man jerks his head up, obviously caught off guard. He blinks wide, blue eyes at Flint, and then grins crookedly although there’s not a lot of humor in it. “Yeah, I’m alright. Thanks for storming in like that. I could have handled him on my own but it wouldn’t have been fun.”

“You’re welcome.” Flint shifts his weight awkwardly, unsure of where to go from there until the man winces again, cupping his jaw gingerly in one palm. Must’ve started throbbing. “Do you have any ice here? Or a cold pack?”

“Can’t say that I do, unfortunately. And I can’t leave the shop unattended.”

Glancing out the window at his own store, Flint considers the option and then shrugs mentally. “I can get you some ice. I’m just across the street there.”

The man glances over his shoulder and then looks back at Flint, both eyebrows raised. “Huh. You didn’t strike me as the baker type, not even with the apron on. Makes more sense than a weird fashion statement though. But yeah, if you wouldn’t mind, some ice would be great. Thanks, man.”

He steps out of the way so Flint can get through the door, and Flint gives me a little nod and a promise to be back quickly. Once inside The Bakery, he hunts down a Ziploc baggie, empties some ice into it, and then wraps the whole thing in paper towels. He also grabs his keys though, and locks his front door on the way out just in case his Closed sign isn’t enough of a deterrent. He’ll have a late night tonight, since he’s barely started cleaning, but he can’t bring himself to mind too much.

Back across the street, the man has collapsed onto a black leather…couch thing, but with no arms or back. Must be where clients lie down so the artists can work on them. But he sits up when Flint comes in and smiles when he hands him the ice pack, pressing it gently against his face with a mixed sigh and wince.

“Thanks again. Dufresne‘s such a prick, I swear.”

Also while Flint was gone, the man rolled up the sleeves of the blue button down he’s wearing (with his ripped, dark jeans, he manages to make it look casual) to reveal sturdy forearms covered in swirling, black ink. Flint finds himself staring, trying to make out all the images intertwined with one another. He’s pretty sure there’s an old fashioned wooden ship, and the Jolly Roger on one arm, and on the other a series of increasingly detailed roses that start out minimalist and become more realistic as they trail from the back of his hand, around his wrist, and disappear under the folded band of his shirt towards his bicep. Flint is struck with the distinct urge to follow them, to see if their designs are hyper realistic by the time they reach the man’s shoulder.

“Who are you anyways?” The soft question breaks Flint out of his reverie, and he returns his wandering gaze to the man’s curious one. “I mean, I get you work across the street and you bake, but that’s about all I know about you.”

Oh, right. “James Flint,” he says, and holds out a hand to shake.

The other man smiles that crooked smile again, this time with genuine amusement. “John Silver. But just call me Silver.” His hand shake is firm and warm, but brief, and oddly enough Flint finds himself missing the connection as soon as it’s over.

“So is the store named after you then?”

“Yup!” Silver responds happily, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “Bit narcissistic, I know. But hey, it was my idea so Max and Muldoon can suck it up.”

“And those are the other two, the bald man and the woman?” Flint asks, and then has to fight the urge to wince at the odd look Silver gives him, obviously wondering why Flint has been spying on his store.

“Yeah, that’s them. They’re both artists here, but Max, the woman, she also handles the money and the books. Muldoon usually scares off the debt collectors like Dufresne. We’re all co-owners.”

On the wall behind Silver are sheets upon sheets of art, skulls and roses and wings and all the typical paraphernalia of tattoo artists. The designs are unique and beautiful, the style an odd mixture of thin and thick lines, of shading and white space. But a foot to either side, the art changes. Everything to the left of Silver’s working space is flowing and thin with an impressive depth of detail. To the right the art feels more traditional, blocky and wide.

“Which is yours?” Flint finds himself asking.

Silver follows his gaze to the wall, and he points to the collection closest to him, the first pieces Flint had been admiring. “This is all mine. That’s Muldoon’s,” he points to the right, “and that’s Max’s” to the left.

“It’s beautiful.”

He hadn’t specified what he was talking about per say, but Flint had definitely meant Silver’s art more than anything else. And when Silver turns around, there’s a faint blush under his tan skin and he’s smiling, so obviously he knew what Flint hadn’t said explicitly.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, then his lips quirk up and he tacks on a sarcastic little, “I’ll let Max know she’s got a new secret admirer, she likes to keep track of all of them.”

“It’s not Max who has a secret admirer,” Flint responds bluntly. He only realizes what he’s said after he’s said it, and when Silver’s eye fly wide.

They regard each other silently and with surprise for one, long terrible moment, and then Silver is grinning impossible wide.

“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” he coos, eyelashes fluttering dramatically, and then the door to the back is opening and Max and Muldoon are coming through, already in conversation. They don’t even pause at seeing Flint in the store, but he doesn’t stay to meet them.

Silver winks at him as he leaves.


	12. Giving Silver up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt for you because your silverflint fics bring light to my days: flint notices silver's interest in madi and basically gives him permission to marry her, settle down, forget about him (silver, of course, has no intention of abandoning the crew and its captain)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Silverflint brings light to my days tbh =3

Flint’s not a stupid man. He may be many things; head strong, stubborn, arrogant, prideful. But he’s not stupid, and he’s certainly not blind.

Which is why he corners his quartermaster one evening, right as the sun is starting to touch the horizon and the ship is preparing to anchor for the night. They’re on the quarter deck, mostly alone as the men slowly but surely go about their business down on the main deck. There’s tension in the air, born from the mixed crews, but it’s no worse than usual and Flint doubts that anything will come of it tonight. Maybe in a day or two, a week from now, a fight or some kind of revolt will break out. But for now the air is the thick and quiet and black and white alike are efficient in their duties.

“So,” he starts, and Silver doesn’t even glance over at him. His eyes are fixed on the crew. One of them in particular. “Maddi.”

“Hmm?” Silver cocks his head like he’s listening, but still he doesn’t tear his gaze away.

Flint rolls his eyes then snaps his fingers in front of the other man’s face to catch his attention. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

The blue of Silver’s eyes is brighter than the darkening depths of the sea when he turns them on Flint, but his expression is offended. “And I’m listening!” he snaps. “What is so damn important?”

Flint’s lips itch to curl, to bare his teeth and snarl. Normally he responds to Silver’s little outbursts with a snort of contempt and not much else, but he’s on edge right now because of the subject matter. But he forces himself to breath deep and calm himself, so that when he starts with, “When this is all over…” it comes out soft and non-threatening.

But then he has to pause, has to collect himself before he can go on.

“When this is all over,” he gestures dismissively around them, at everything and nothing at all, “I want you to know that you don’t have to stay here…with me.”

Silver just blinks at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

God, why is this so fucking difficult.

Flint does grind his teeth together this time, but only briefly. “I’m telling you that you don’t have to stay on with the crew after this.” Another deep breath. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Maddi. I’m not an idiot, and despite popular belief I’m also not cruel. Retire from this life, settle down with her. You don’t need to stay here.”

The look of shocked disbelief on Silver’s face is surprisingly blank. He just stands there for a long moment, eyes wide, lips slightly parted as he regards Flint with something that looks like a mixture between horror, anger, and possibly amusement.

Flint forces himself to be patient, to hold eye contact into the silence until eventually Silver lets out a kind of choked coughing noise.

“Oh my god,” he splutters, and then laughs incredulously. “Holy shit, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Before Flint can get offended, Silver swoops in, hands hard on his captain’s biceps to hold him in place as he kisses him long and deep. Distantly, Flint thinks he hears a few catcalls, but his brain his short circuiting and his mouth is busy moving with Silver’s, responding on autopilot to the sensual touch.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, but when Silver pulls back his hair is in disarray from Flint’s hands and he’s breathing heavily. He’s also got the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he says into the intimately small space between them. “I’m not leaving anytime soon, so you better get that through your thick skull.”

Still reeling slightly, Flint can only mutter, “Gladly,” and haul Silver in for another kiss.


	13. Silver the thief (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heeey~! First of all: Thank you for thief!silver!!!!!! Now I realy want to read how other pirates responds to sneaky!silver and how Flint is used to it.... Please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver the sneak ;)

Flint grows used to the change fairly quickly once he knows what the fuck is going on. Now that Silver is aware he hasn’t lost all his thieving talents, he’s taken to practicing whenever and wherever opportunities arise. It doesn’t help that the crew are still betting on him, and that he knows it.

One day he steals several medical tools from Howell, which sends the man cursing and stomping about below decks to search every nook and cranny for them. Eventually Silver takes pity and points him in the direction they’re hidden, and Flint can tell Howell suspects the quartermaster of being the one to move them, but has no proof. Later, he’ll hear Howell conferring with a few other men as they debate exactly how Silver got into the locked cabinet they’re kept in. None of them have the right answer.

Sneaking up on the crew when they’re on deck becomes increasingly common, until all the men are on edge when they’re on duty, looking for the moment Silver will pop out of nowhere to scare them. Flint would put it a stop to it since it’s damaging their efficiency if it weren’t so damn funny. He’ll let it go on for a bit longer.

Even things in Flint’s cabin get moved around spontaneously, so that if anyone is looking for something in particular it can take them up to an hour trying to pinpoint exactly where it’s gotten to. Mainly this applies to Billy and Muldoon and the few other men who have access to the cabin. When Flint finds something missing he stares Silver down until the man laughs breathlessly and reveals its location with that teasing grin on his lips.

Needless to say, Silver has become something of a bane on the ship. But it makes him happy, and it stops him from feeling useless so Flint allows it. For now.


	14. Bakery/Tattoo Shop AU (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iwaspromisedhedonism asked:  
> HOLY FUCKING SHIT, YOUR BAKERY AU?? I HAVE SUCH A FUCKING THIRST FOR MORE, YOU CANNOT BELIEVE?? IS THERE ANY WAY I COULD PERSUADE YOU TO WRITE MORE?? ILL GIVE YOU ANYTHING TBH?? EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS MY AESTHETICS AND I HAVE NEVER CRAVED AS BAD [WEEPS TEARS OF NEED]
> 
> iwaspromisedhedonism said:  
> okay, not to be obnoxious and pushy, but baker au chap 2 where silver tattoos the tiny crescent moon to flint's arm? AND PIERCINGS, FLINT SHOULD WONDER ABOUT THOSE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here friend, another 3k of Bakery au, a good chunk of which is porn. Enjoy!

“Oh, he’s cute.”

Flint sighs heavily from where he’s standing behind the counter, wiping the surface down with a damp rag. Miranda has her back to him, avidly watching Silver Ink across the street, where Silver himself is cleaning his store before their midday opening.

“Stop staring, he’s going to see you.”

Miranda laughs lightly and rolls her head back to look at him, her lips twisted up in that devious way that’s oh so familiar. “Too late,” she say, “he’s already on his way over.”

“What?” His neck protests when Flint looks up too quickly, his own eyes wide as he watches Silver casually crossing the street headed right for them. He’s wearing a tight t-shirt, and most of his arms are on display, which is one hell of a distraction. To top it off the collar of the shirt is so low that Flint can see part of his collarbones and the dark ink swirled there, and he can’t help but wonder what art is hiding under the fabric.

Silver calls out a greeting when he enters the shop, and before Flint can stop her Miranda steps up to him, hand extended.

“Hello, I’m Miranda, James’ best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure,” the dark-haired man replies smoothly, shaking her hand without missing a beat. “I think Flint’s mentioned you before.”

Flint’s heart skips a beat, because he knows exactly how-

“Oh,” Miranda says, insinuation heavy in her voice, “he talks about you _all_ the time.”

Both of Silver’s eyebrows jump up and he drawls out a slow, “Really?” that makes Flint grind his teeth. He decides he needs to stop this before it can get much worse.

“What do you want, Silver?” he snaps, probably more harshly than he meant to, but Silver just looks amused when he glances over. He opens his mouth to respond, but Miranda beats him to it.

“It’s getting late, I should probably go ahead and leave you two alone.” Very obviously she winks at Flint, smirking all the while then laughs and takes her leave, sweeping out of the store very obviously pleased with herself.

There’s a beat of silence, then Silver says, “I like her,” and Flint snorts.

“That makes once of us at least.”

In his pocket, Flint’s phone vibrates against his thigh.

“Now, what do you want?” Softer this time, but still brusque. Silver’s good mood doesn’t seem affected in the least, he just sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“Lunch, actually. I heard you make killer sandwiches.”

Flint does actually sell sandwiches, made using his own artisan bread, so he takes Silver’s order and heads to the back to make it. While he’s there he slips his phone out of his pocket, quickly reading over Miranda’s text to him.

_Take a closer look at his chest, that shirt is pretty tight ;)_

Rolling his eyes, Flint sighs and sticks his phone back in his pocket before washing his hands and getting to work. A minute later he plates the finished sandwich and heads back out, finding Silver seated at one of the tables with his phone out and his chin resting on his hand. It makes the muscles in his forearm look more defined, and Flint goes a little dry mouthed at the sight. And that’s before his eyes flicker to Silver’s chest, unwillingly taking Miranda’s advice.

He nearly drops the fucking plate.

Silver’s shirt is so tight it clings to the planes of his chest, which Flint had noticed at first glance. What he hadn’t seen, however, was that it was tight enough to see the shape of Silver’s nipples. And the obvious rings going through them.

Honestly Flint feels like his whole world has tipped on its axis, and is realigning itself around this new bit of information.

Oh lord, is Silver’s _dick_ pierced?

“Flint?”

The single word brings him back to himself, and he blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear his mind. Silver is gazing at him worriedly, leaning forward out of his seat in an unconscious show of concern. He must have been standing here staring like a damn idiot.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” His voice comes out gruff and strained, and he forces himself to take those last few steps forward and release his depth grip on the plate. The skin around his knuckles is white with strain.

“I need to get back to work.”

He stays in the back until Silver leaves.

oOo

His right hand gets more action than it’s seen in a long, long time.

oOo

Miranda takes to stopping by more often than ever before, and she spends most of her time split between grilling Flint about why he hasn’t asked Silver out yet (or at least just fucked him already) and watching the man in question through the shop windows.

It changes one day when she comes in and immediately sits down and starts sketching on a piece of paper. She glances over at Flint often while he’s working behind the counter, and he watches her back suspiciously. She doesn’t even say much to him, only a few mumbled thank you’s when he brings her fresh coffee and tries to see what she’s working on. She always keeps her arm over the paper and he gives up eventually.

Several hours after sitting down, she suddenly hops up and without a word rushes out the store. Flint stares after her, confused an alarmed, as she whirls into Silver Ink and immediately pulls Silver into a conversation.

They huddle together for a long time, pointing at Miranda’s paper and talking animatedly. Every now and then one of them will glance up at Flint, excitement in their eyes.

Maybe he should just leave. Go home. Change his name, fucking _something_.

The pair disappears into the back of Silver Ink, and Flint attends to a sudden, small rush of customers of his own. When they’re gone, and he’s cleaning up the mess they left behind, Silver and Miranda come strutting across the street with twin grins of evil on their faces.

Silver slaps a piece of paper down on his counter, and Miranda points one delicate finger at the two different drawings there. One is crude and sketchy, the other is obviously Silver’s professional art.

“This is your tattoo,” Miranda says.

Flint stares at them incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going to tattoo you! Miranda thinks it would look best on your arm and I’m inclined to agree,” Silver continues. The smile he gives is winning, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

The drawings are of the same thing, a small crescent moon with spiraling designs moving outward from it. It’s not very complicated or very large.

“And you two just decided this all on your own?”

Miranda’s smile turns softer, and she reaches across the counter to put her hand over his. “It’s your decision of course,” she assures. “But John and I have been talking, and he really wants to work on you, and I’ve always thought you’d look good with something simple. So we got together and designed something for you!”

The idea that Silver wants to work on him, for whatever reason, is what makes Flint look down at the paper again and consider the option.

It’s not like it’d take very long…and the chance to be that close to Silver? Well…

“If you charge me for this I’m going to be pissed.”

Silver’s grin turns crooked and happy. “Of course not!”

oOo

They schedule to do it on a day The Bakery is going to be closed.

Flint comes in pretty late. He only got one day off a week, so he hadn’t been willing to give this one up, especially since he’d had things he’d needed to get down. Which means by the time he’s arriving at Silver Ink, the sun has already set and all the streetlamps on the road are happily lit.  

Silver’s the only one there, and he looks up from this little desk type thing expectantly when he hears the door open. His face lights up when he sees Flint.

“Good, you’re here!” he says, standing up. “I was worried you were going to bail on me.”

Flint doesn’t bother to give that a response, just crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight. “How do we do this?”

Silver cocks his head and then looks Flint up and down contemplatively. “We decided on your right arm, right?” he asks. At Flint’s nod he continues, “Go ahead and take your shirt off for me then, and come sit down over here.”

Grabbing the back of his collar, Flint pulls his shirt off and then folds it, setting it next to him when he sits down on the leather couch. The air of the room is cool, cool enough to make the suddenly exposed skin on his abdomen pebble.

Humming softly to himself, Silver buzzes around Flint, pulling his chair and table closer and setting up equipment. And then he starts unbuttoning his flannel, drawing all of Flint’s attention as each plastic piece slips through the fabric and the shoulders start to slip down Silver’s arms. The process is slower than it should be, revealing a thin, white t-shirt beneath the flannel, skin visible under that. Not to mention where it’s clinging to the contours of his body, his collarbones and biceps and…

his _fucking nipples,_ with their _fucking piercings._

Flint has to manually keep his breathing steady, has to avert his eyes and try to hold himself still and silent.

“Alright, let me get right here beside you,” Silver murmurs, pulling gloves down over thick fingers. Rather than using his chair, he sits right beside Flint on the couch, one foot drawn up beneath him, the other on the floor. He’s got a piece of paper in his hand, and he peels a plastic cover off of it before carefully laying it against Flint’s arm. When he pulls it away, the moon design is there on Flint’s skin.

Silver grabs a mirror and holds it up so Flint can appraise the art. His smile is wide and crooked when Flint gives his acquiescence.  

“This should only take about fifteen minute or so,” he says, but then he reaches to pull his little rolling table closer and he brushes up against Flint and he can _feel_ those metal rings against his bare skin, thin cloth the only thing between them. He flushes warm and then burning fucking hot, and its only the buzzing of the machine turning on that brings him back down from the sudden burst of lust.  

The needle touches him, and Flint has to keep himself from jerking away. One of Silver’s hand is on his shoulder, keeping him steady while Silver slowly drags the needle down, blue gaze intense on what he’s doing.

Flint doesn’t let him get much further. The moment Silver has to pull the machine away for more than just a brief second, Flint is up and standing and Silver is staring at him confusedly. He glances down once, to see the faint crescent moon on his arm, bare of all the intricate curves and designs Miranda had planned, and decides he doesn’t care.

“Flint?” Silver asks. “What’s wrong? You can’t just-“

With purpose, Flint is striding for the door marked employees only, into a back room with a desk and chair, a small hallway branching off of it leading further back.

“Flint!” he hears called after him, and then Silver is pushing into the room too, looking concerned  

Flint spins, closes the door, and slams Silver back against it with purpose.

“This is has gone on too damn long.”

Blue eyes blink at him and then all the tension rushes out of Silver’s body as he melts back against the door, a little smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Fucking finally,” he sighs. “If I had known all it would take to get into your pants was a little ink I would have had you in my chair _way_ sooner.”

“It wasn’t the tattoo,” Flint responds. His arm does burn faintly, but it isn’t important right now, a minor background detail. To illustrate what exactly it was that had broken his will, his thumbs at one of Silver’s nipples through his shirt.

“Do you always wear your clothing two sizes too small?”

Silver bites his lip at the action, breath stuttering a little. “Sometimes, but I’ve been wearing them a lot tighter now that you’re around,” he admits.

Something akin to a growl works its way out of Flint’s throat, a purely primal response, and he can’t resist leaning down to mouth at Silver’s nipple through his shirt. Makes the fabric wet with saliva, dragging his tongue slowly against the cotton just to feel the way Silver shakes slightly against him.

“Fuck,” he hears faintly, and then a pleading, “Flint.”

Pulling back, Flint helps the other man out of his shirt and then dives back in. Already teased, Silver’s nipples are red and puffy, the silver metal of the rings bright against them. Flint hooks his finger in one of those rings and tugs gently at it, puts the other in his mouth to flick it with his tongue.

“Shit,” Silver curses again, strong fingers carding into Flint’s hair. But they don’t push him away, if anything they pull Flint closer while Silver simultaneously cants his hips forward.

 Flint pulls back a little, blowing cool air over damp skin to make Silver shiver, and then hooks a finger through the ring he’d had in his mouth and puts his lips on the one he’d been twisting and tweaking. The metal is skin-warm on his tongue, and he loves the way he can make it shift under Silver’s skin.

Suddenly, Silver’s grip in his hair turns harsh as he tugs Flint up to kiss him, his mouth insistent and hot. Before he knows it, Flint is being backed up against the desk, Silver’s hands skimming over his bare chest with the barest hint of scraping nails.

“You have no idea,” Silver says breathlessly between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Oh, I think I have an idea,” Flint returns, voice gritty as he slides his palms down Silver’s back to feel the way the man arches into him, and then slides them right into those white washed jeans to find out Silver is going commando.

Flint must stiffen for a moment in surprise or something, because Silver laughs a little against his mouth. “Yeah,” he breathes, kissing at Flint’s jaw and then down the column of his throat, “I haven’t been bothering with underwear lately. Less layers to have to fight through when I get home and want to fuck myself thinking about you.”

Flint groans like he’s dying, grip tightening on the supple flesh of Silver’s ass. With reluctance he pulls his hands out, but it’s only so that he can grab Silver around the waist and spin them around, reversing their positions. He then drops to his knees, fingers at the button of Silver’s jeans.

With a great deal of effort, Flint forces himself to slow down and look up at the other man, to ask, “Is this okay?” before he goes any further.

Silver raises one eyebrow at him, a pretty picture as he leans back against the desk and looks down his body at Flint. “Honestly, if you stop right now out of some kind of weird chivalry, wanting to respect me or whatever, I’m going to pissed,” he says calmly, casually. “I don’t want to be respected, I want to be fucked senseless.”

Another groan from Flint, and this time and leans his head against Silver’s jean-clad thigh while he tries to collect himself. “Stop saying shit like that,” he grouses. “Not unless you’ve got lube around here somewhere, which I highly doubt.”

Sighing, Silver just shrugs apologetically. “I don’t, sorry. But you can damn well bet that’s going to be something I plan on fixing in the near future.”

Which implies there’s going to be a _next_ time to this. Flint privately thinks there may be a god after all.

Silver’s fingers once again in his hair bring him back to the present. “We can stop if you want to,” he offers, but Flint just shakes his head.

“No, I want to do this,” and with that he finally unbuttons Silver’s jeans. He doesn’t bother trying to tug them down more than an inch or two, just low enough that he can pull Silver’s half-hard cock out without too much trouble.

His mouth waters at the sight.

“I fucking knew it,” he mutters, gently dragging his thumb over the curve of metal through Silver’s cock. It’s a Prince Albert piercing, he thinks, one end of the loop emerging from the head of Silver’s dick and capped with a little ball, and the other end just below the head. Unlike his nipple piercings, this metal is a shiny black, the skin around it amazingly hot and velvety soft.

“Piercing kind of guy, huh?” Silver comments. He looks casual, leaning his weight back against the desk, but Flint can see the carefully controlled rise and fall of his chest, the way the muscles in his thighs tighten like he’s trying to hold himself back.

Flint answers that comment by lowering his head and putting his mouth on that warm metal. Silver curses, fingers tightening in ginger hair as Flint shifts it with his tongue, flicking it, and then sucks long and slow. He pumps one hand up and down Silver’s shaft, bringing him to full hardness, and the other he presses to Silver’s hip in order to steady himself.

Before long he’s sucking in earnest, Silver panting lightly above him as Flint slowly works his way further and further down, giving himself time to adjust until his nose is brushing dark, curly hair and he can feel the head of Silver’s dick hitting the back of his throat. He pauses there, and then works his throat around it, swallowing repeatedly until Silver’s thigh is shaking under his hand. When the man is on the brink of coming, Flint backs off again, taking a gasping breath as his lips come off with a lewd, wet smack.

“Holy fuck,” Silver breathes, part awe part moan. Flint smirks, leans back in to tug on the piercing one more time with his teeth before he’s standing. Without missing a beat, Silver leans in to kiss him not hesitating at all at finding his own taste on Flint’s lips, his tongue.

With hurried movements, Flint undoes his slacks, again pushing them down just far enough to free his hard dick, leaking at the tip and an angry red from being ignored. He shudders as he takes them both in hand, Silver slick with saliva and Flint’s skin dry and smooth against it.

Silver breaks their kiss so he can look down as Flint starts pumping his hand slowly. With a little huff he wraps his own hand over Flint’s, guiding him to go faster until they’re both short of breath, foreheads tilted together, gazes occasionally catching and holding as their lips brush, open mouthed.

Having already been brought to the edge, Silver comes first. But Flint doesn’t follow long after, both of them gushing over their joined hands, shuddering and hot.

Eventually blue eyes flutter open, and Silver pulls back a little. No hesitation, he just brings his hand up to his mouth and licks it clean, then picks up Flint’s hand and does the same, long, slow, even strokes of his tongue.

Flint can’t bring himself to look away. They end up going another round before Max and Muldoon show up.

oOo

Silver refuses to ever finish the tattoo. He says it’s a reminder of the first time they hooked up, and all the hook ups that followed as well. Flint allows it.

oOo

Not even a week passes before Max finds Silver’s stash of lube in the shop. Flint is banned for life.

They move it to The Bakery.


	15. Flint's staring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi do you still take prompts? If so silver/flint where Flint can't stop staring at silvers mouth silver just smirks says eyes are up here cap, Flint gets huffy, silver's all if u wanna kiss me do it, Flint is all indignant but does after much teasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt is so cute and so in character for them!

He notices the way Flint stares at him almost immediately when they first meet. How could he not, it’s really fucking obvious. But Silver doesn’t really start to think about it until much later, long after they’ve joined up and started to work together. So much later in fact, that Silver’s a little ashamed to admit it took him so much time to finally realize that Flint isn’t just staring at him. Flint’s staring at his _mouth_.

It’s kind of an out of the blue thing; they’re standing there on the top deck, discussing wind and rain and what to do with the sails for the night, and Silver just happens to glance over in time to watch Flint’s eyes flicker down and then back up again. It’s such a surprise he doesn’t answer whatever the hell question his captain just asked him, standing there blankly as he takes in that new information.

And then he has to think about the particular expression that had been on Flint’s face, and that he’s been looking at Silver like that for _so fucking long_.

Blows his damn mind, let him tell you.

But it means he’s prepared the next time he manages to catch Flint staring. This time they’re down in the hold, a swaying lantern their only light as they take inventory, and they’re talking casually. Silver glances up from the box he’s bent over, and there it is, that intense fixation in Flint’s green, green eyes as he focuses on Silver’s lips.

Silver huffs out a breath and smirks, slowly straightening to a stand.

“Captain,” he says, keeping his voice low and amused.

Instantly Flint’s eyes are back on his, wary and a little confused as he tries to figure out what the hell Silver is up to.

“You keep staring,” Silver tells him, and at Flint’s eyebrow raise he taps a finger to his lips to indicate what he means. It just makes his captain look more incredulous, but Silver recognizes the signs of embarrassment; the way Flint shifts his weight, the sudden tension around his eyes, the very tips of his ears turning bright, telling red.

“If you want to kiss me, just do it.”

Flint’s eyes narrow, and he snaps, “Finish the fucking inventory.” He turns his back on Silver, but Silver can still see the red on his ears even as he stomps out of the hold and back up towards the main deck.

It doesn’t surprise Silver at all when, an hour later just as he’s finishing up, Flint stomps back down the stairs and pins him bodily against the hull.


	16. Kidnapped!Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umm…if you are still accepting FlintSilver requests, I have one. Essentially, another crew kidnaps Silver while the Walrus crew are stopping off in Nassau, leaving his boot behind. Somewhere in the fic, please include the Flint-esc quote “Get the fuck away from him”. :)
> 
> Only if you want to of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really fun prompt! I’m kind of tempted to do another part, where Flint takes Silver back to the ship for him to recover??

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

They’re pressed against the side of a wooden house, backs to it and heads turned to catch the sound of movement and voices within. The fingers of one of Flint’s hand are clenched tight around leather, the grip so tight his knuckles are white.

Billy’s expression is dubious at best. “There are a lot of men in there,” he goes on. “We should go collect some of the crew and come back.”

Flint grits his teeth. He can’t leave. But he also doesn’t know how to explain that to Billy, that he physically can’t drag his feet away from this dilapidated house on the outskirts of Nassau, that he can just barely catch the sound of Silver’s voice from within those walls and it roots him to the fucking spot. So he compromises.

“You go. I’ll stay here.”

His bo-sun doesn’t look reassured in the slightest. He deliberates for a quiet second before giving in though, telling Flint that he’ll be back shortly and not to do anything rash in that amount of time. Then he sneaks back off the way they came.

Flint gives it two minutes, listening to Billy’s quiet retreat and then allowing time to pass to ensure he’s actually gone.

Then he kicks the fucking door in.

Inside, the house is in ruins, even more so than it is on the outside. There are a good six men spread across the single room, all in various poses of surprise as every eye lands on Flint. In the middle of them all is Silver, bound to a chair and looking comically startled. But it only takes a few seconds for a wide smile to steal upon his lips, for relief to sweep over his features.

“James!” he says. So happy to see him he goes straight for first name.

All hell breaks loose. Like it was choreographed, three men swoop in towards Silver and the other three go for Flint, all of them reaching for pistols or swords or knives. But Flint’s eyes are fixed on the hands on Silver’s shoulders, yanking on his bonds, holding a knife to his throat in clear and dire warning.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

It’s not a shout. It’s not a scream. It’s a low growl, deep and dangerous the sound of a true predator, and it brings the entire room to a momentary standstill.

Silver takes advantage of the quiet without missing a beat. “I hope you men know that that is Captain Flint. And he’s about to kill every single one of you if you don’t stand down.”

Flint’s name conjures nightmares amongst wealthy, land holding English. But pirates know it just as well if not better than lazy plantation owners and pompous governors, and just as much fear can be inspired in their breasts. It only takes a moment of silent deliberation before they all back down, and then rush like startled rats for an escape.

Flint lets them go, but only because he’s too busy cutting away Silver’s bonds.

“God, you have no idea how glad I am to see you,” the man murmurs, and now that he’s safe there’s a faint tremor to his voice.

Flint snorts from where he’s kneeling in front of the chair, cutting at the ropes on Silver’s legs. The man’s arms are already free, and he’s rubbing at his wrists. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

When Flint looks up, Silver is smiling crookedly at him. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t have left you to them,” Flint says as he stands, and then offers Silver a hand to help the man stand. It takes a few tries, his balance is shaky at best and he has to lean against Flint rather heavily, but Silver manages. He peers over Flint’s shoulder towards the door, and then coughs a startled little laugh.

“Is that my boot?”

Flint glances back, and sure enough the leather boot is lying discarded in the doorway. He must have dropped it when he came bursting in.

“Well I’m not psychic, I had to know you were missing somehow.”

Silver buries his face in Flint’s shoulder and just laughs some more. That’s how the crew finds them when they arrive a few minutes later, Flint’s arms around Silver, and Silver clinging tightly to him either crying or laughing, they’re not sure which.


	17. Silver in makeup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> If you're still taking prompts, could you please write something where Silver starts wearing kohl or some other eyeliner bc he was hanging out with Max or smt, and Flint just starts losing his shit bc Silver is too attractive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver in makeup would probably make anyone lose their shit tbh

“Trust me,” says Max, and Silver slumps a little, allowing her to lead him by the hand towards a vanity in the corner.

In the next room, Vane, Eleanor, and Flint are all talking shop. Really Max and Silver should be with them, but Silver had pulled the small dark-skinned woman aside before the meeting started. He was at the end of his rope and he needed advice.

This isn’t the advice he’d been looking for.

“I really don’t think this is going to work,” he says, staring dubiously down at the unfamiliar tubes, bottles, and brushes littering the top of the vanity.

“I have seen the way he looks at you. This is going to work.”

Max puts her slender hands on Silver’s shoulders and shoves him down into the vanity’s chair, her strength surprising him. Then she circles him, eyes roving his face the way a predator contemplates its prey. Silver shifts uncomfortably, but she just grabs his chin and forces his face up.

“I’ve got just the thing,” she says after a while, and plucks a jar and a thin brush from the mess seemingly at random.

Silver eyes it warily. “I really don’t-“

But she’s already dipping the brush into the dark liquid and moving it towards his face, giving him a brief warning of “Don’t move,” that sounds vaguely threatening. So he goes still, heart hammering as she paints the cool liquid under his eyes, and then tells him to close them and does it on his eyelids as well. It’s all very unnerving and Silver is suddenly rethinking every previous notion he had about women and make up.

She has him sit still for a moment when she’s done, telling him he needs to let the kohl dry. He can physically feel the way the…kohl, he guesses, tightens on his skin, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable per say. Max plays with his hair in the meantime, arranging it to her satisfaction while humming softly under her breath.

“There,” she eventually declares, and stands behind him with her hands on his shoulders as he opens his eyes.

Immediately his gaze goes to the mirror, looking at the foreign reflection staring back at him. Max hadn’t done much, it had only taken a minute or two, but the man staring back…his blue eyes are bright and luminous, eyelashes dark and soft and fluttering every time he blinks, and his hair is artfully tousled, like someone’s fingers were recently sliding through it, perhaps while he was on his knees or bent over one flat surface or another.

It’s an abrupt and surprising change, apparently enough to garner a small noise of surprise from Silver’s throat, because Max laughs gently at him.

“I told you,” she says, putting a hand under his chin and gently guiding his gaze away from the mirror. “A little work and you’ll be irresistible to him.”

There’s noise from the next room, chairs scraping against wooden floors, louder voices, and Silver feels his face flush. He had wanted to get Flint’s attention yes, had been tired of trying and failing to get Flint to really look at him the entire time they were out at sea, but he doesn’t really want anyone else to see him painted up like this either. What would Eleanor think? What would Vane think, god whatever respect the man had for him previously would be gone.

But he isn’t given much time to think about it because the trio is coming out of the room, looking tense and unhappy like the meeting hadn’t gone to plan. Eleanor is the first on to spot Silver where he’s sitting at the vanity, twisted around to watch the others come in, and her mouth opens in comic surprise.

Before Silver can artfully toss himself out the window, Max’s smooth voice intercepts him. “I did a good job, no?”

It draws the attention of Flint and Vane as well, and Silver really wishes he could die but Max’s fingers on his shoulder are tight and threatening.

“John was kind enough to let me practice a new technique on him, weren’t you John?” The fingers squeeze, and Silver nods woodenly.

Vane raises an eyebrow looking unimpressed, but also like he couldn’t care less one way or another what weird shit Silver gets up to in his spare time. Eleanor’s surprise has faded to faint amusement but also displeasure.

“We were here for an important meeting, not to braid each other’s hair, Max,” she chides.

And Flint…Flint looks frozen. His green eyes are wide and dark and his lips are just barely parted, chest rising and falling a touch too quickly.

Back to business, Eleanor asks him a question and it snaps Flint out of whatever spell he’d been under. He turns and answers her normally, but Silver can feel it every time those eyes flicker over to him.

He gets what he’d been hoping for as soon as they get back to the ship, Max accomplishing what he couldn’t do in weeks in just a few short minutes. Silver doesn’t care, he’s too happy being fucked on the desk, up against the bulkhead, on the deck, and anywhere else Flint so pleases.


	18. Defending Flint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> Hi! I'm loving all your silverflint's oneshots! I was wondering if you could write another where Silver gets into a fight because some jackass insulted his captain (his georgeous ginger hair especially) and Silver goes bat shit crazy. Flint sees the fight but isn't close enough to hear why it started (Bonus points if Silver is a bit injured) (more bonus points if Flint takes care of him afterwards) ^^ pretty please?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh don’t think I really hit exactly what you were looking for, but I tried!

The tavern is busy and loud, but the noise dwindles when Silver and several of his crew walk in. Heads turn, chairs swivel, but as they make their way up to the bar the room seems to settle. Accept.

The Walrus has only just made landfall, and Silver and this group were the first to come ashore. To most eyes they’re just some men looking for a good drink and solid ground under their boots (boot, in Silver’s case) after a long voyage. But that’s not why they’re here.  

His men fan out along the bar, ordering drinks and drifting amongst the locals, trying to find their way into conversations. Information gathering, that’s what they’re here for. Silver himself sits at the bar though, keeping a watchful eye on his crew and the rest of the men here, loud and bawdry and drunk.

One such man approaches Silver twenty minutes into the reconnaissance, stumbling and stinking of liquor so fowl Silver’s eyes water a little.

“Hey,” he says, falling onto the bar ungracefully for support. “I know you. You’re Flint’s lapdog, his little bitch.”

Silver arches an eyebrow but doesn’t respond just yet. Is that what Nassau thinks of him right now? He could probably use that, twist it to what he needs.

But then the man goes on, voice slow and heavy, dragged down by alcohol. “Flint,” he snorts, “now there’s a shit captain if I’ve ever seen one. Wouldn’t sail under him if yous fucking paid me.”

More than anything the man seems to be talking to himself now, gaze glassy and unfocused. “S’that red hair. Gingers, they ain’t got no souls, you know? Heartless, and he’s an idiot to boot.”

The man is on the floor before Silver even realizes he’s moved. He blinks down at the groaning figure and then glances at his raised fist, his knuckles smarting where they connected with bone under clammy skin.

Around him, the tavern has gone silent. Pulling himself together, Silver shrugs at the crowd offering an apologetic little smile.

“He was talking shit about my captain.”

It seems to settle their curiosity, and everyone turns back to their tankards including The Walrus’ crew.

Silver sighs and signals for a refill; he can already picture Flint’s smug smile when he hears the retelling of _that_ particular tale.


	19. Used to it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to you~! I love your writing, it always bring a smile to my face C: So here, have another SilverFlint thingy; Silver have been without food / water / both? for longer periodes of time when he was younger, so when the crew gang up on him for acting normaly when the rest of them are starving... And Silver responds quietly "It's nothing I'm note used too..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to make you smile! =3 Also, this prompt hurt to think about??? Agggh we know so little about Silver’s past!

The days they are becalmed are pure hell for Silver.

His mind is awash with images and scenes from his past, voices long dead whispering in his ears wherever he goes inspired by the pang of hunger in his stomach and the dry rasp of his tongue in his own mouth.

But if he lived this way for years upon years, he can handle a few days or even a week. So he pulls himself out of those dark corners of his mind and he gets shit done. He rations what little food and water they have, he argues with Flint, he hauls up the traps from the water and uses the pitiful offerings found within.

He’s below deck, still trying to squeeze whatever he can out of the eels, when they corner him. Four men, big, typically the ones tasked with the most difficult manual labor. Some of the ones Flint would label unessential. They’re all worn and ragged looking, movements weaker than normal, but Silver has no imagination that he’d be able to beat them in a fight, even in this state. He’s not doing much better himself after all, he’s just better at hiding it.

The group glances at each other, exchanging meaningful looks until one of them steps forward. He goes by McNeil, he’s been known to pick fights in the past.

“We think,” he says, and the way he’s moving towards Silver is reminiscent of stalking, “that you’re stealing rations.” His lips pull back from his teeth, a grimace of a smile.

Silver eyes the knife on the table beside him; he’s already backed against the damn thing, there’s nowhere else for him to go really and the knife is a tempting option.

Before it can come to that, Billy and Flint come bursting through the door, very obviously looking for them. Someone must have seen the four men come down here and realized it spelled trouble.

The whole room goes still, everyone eyeing each other up, and as usual it’s Flint who takes the lead.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

McNeil recovers swiftly, and gestures disdainfully at Silver. “We got a problem with him.”

“Oh yeah?” Flint’s lip curls. “Then take it up with me. You don’t get to act on your own, especially not against your quartermaster.”

The tension is running high in the air, but either McNeil doesn’t feel it or, more likely, just doesn’t care. “Wasn’t alone,” he argues. His companions shift their weight, not quite as brave as their ring leader but not willing to back down either.

“So you’ve all got a problem with Mr. Silver?”

 _Mr. Silver._ Ugh. Silver’s nose wrinkles at the title, always ill-fitting but even worse when it comes from Flint’s mouth.

Billy crosses his arms over his chest, staring the crewmen down. “What could you all possibly have against him?”

It’s Little (and Silver still isn’t quite sure exactly how he got that particular nickname) who speaks up this time. “We think he’s stealing rations.”

Billy’s jaw drops a little. “Silver. Stealing rations. Are you fucking mad?”

There’s obviously more on the bo-sun’s tongue, but he falls quiet at a gesture from Flint. In the darkness of the hold, striped with sunlight and nothing else, Silver can’t see the green of Flint’s eyes from where he’s standing. But he knows that shrewd expression, knows that his captain’s gaze is intense and focused.

“Do you have any evidence?”

It’s the opening McNeil has been looking for. “Look at him!” he exclaims, gesturing again at Silver. “We’re all up on deck wasting away and he’s still running around down here, right as rain and shit, bright eyed and bushy or whatever the fuck that saying is.”

Silver’s lips part without conscious thought, his voice neutral and understated.

“I’m used to it.”

Silence envelops the room, and every eye turns to Silver. He panics a little internally, wondering why the fuck he’d just said what he had. There’s no way Flint would have believed he was stealing food, he knows Silver too well by this point, so it’s not like Silver really needed to defend himself. And yet here is.

When the silence stretches on, Silver eventually continues. “To going without, I mean. I’m used to working on an empty stomach, I’ve gone a lot longer on a lot less.”

Little and the two other men start to look uncomfortable, but McNeil looks like he thinks Silver is total bullshit. But Flint cuts him off before he can do much more than open his mouth.

“Enough. Get back on deck, I’m done listening to you slander your quartermaster. Billy, go with them and make sure they don’t try to spread this nonsense.” Flint’s gaze is hard and absolute as he watches the men file out of the room, three of them doubtful and maybe ashamed, one of them angry and sullen. And then Billy, casting a curious glance back at Silver as he closes the door behind himself.

Again, silence as Flint and Silver size each other up.

“Yes, I was telling the truth. No, I’m not going to say anything more about it,” Silver finally announces. Something flashes across Flint’s face, dark and intriguing, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. But he takes the words to heart, because rather than commenting he just beckons Silver forward.

“Come up to the main deck. There’s something you should see.”

And then they hunt sharks together! =D


	20. Kidnapped!Silver (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Your kidnapped!Silver ficlet was so great!! *.* Please, write the second part you were talking about!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO’S BACK. BACK AGAIN. 
> 
> But yes, more kidnapped!Silver. I just wanted some caring Flint uwu

“What did they want with you?”

Silver turns his head to look at Flint, dark curls feathered out around his face on the bunk he’s laying on. Flint’s bunk to be precise, the one in his cabin.

“You’re a powerful man, James Flint,” the quartermaster says, apropos of nothing. Flint just raises an eyebrow at him, which earns him that crooked smile of Silver’s that he won’t admit to loving so.

Silver rolls over on the bunk so that he’s facing Flint, pillowing his head on one arm and keeping the other curled up against his chest. He looks oddly young, curled up like that, vulnerable.

“They’re scared,” he continues. “Of you, of me, of our crew. And they know I’m the connection between you and the men, so they decided to take me.”

Flint snorts and leans back in his desk chair, swiveled to face the bunk. “Obviously they didn’t think their plan through if they ran at the first sight of trouble.”

Again, that playful curl of Silver’s lips. “You’re more than just _trouble_ ,” he teases, but the smile fades and he gets back on track pretty quickly. “I don’t think they really had much of a plan. They just ambushed me out of nowhere, and dragged me to that house without explaining themselves. I think they were waiting for something? Maybe they were going to trade me for money.”

Which doesn’t sound good at all. “That means there could be a bounty on your head,” Flint muses, and Silver sighs.

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Spinning the chair back towards his desk, Flint tells his quartermaster to get some rest. They can talk more about it later. Flint has ledgers to fill out anyways, and accounts to track, so he picks up his pen and gets to work.

He can’t help but keep some level of awareness of Silver though, of the fact that the man hasn’t rolled onto his back again, is watching Flint with a calm content-ness right up until the second his blue eyes slip shut.

He’d been wound pretty tight earlier, after they’d left that dilapidated shack. Flint had had to help him back into town, and from there back onto the safety of The Walrus. Silver had leaned against Flint the whole time, hobbling along because his bad leg could barely take his weight after all the rough treatment. The crew who had come to help had spread out around them in a vaguely defensive formation, but they’d kept their distance. Flint was the only who Silver really wanted or allowed to get close to him when he was feeling so weak. Even so Silver had kept a strong face, laughing and teasing so that none but Flint knew exactly how vulnerable he was.

Flint blinks and realizes his pen has stopped moving, that he’s been watching Silver’s sleeping form for some time now. He shakes his head a little and turns back to his work, but can’t help thinking to himself that he’ll do anything in his power to protect this man.


	21. I dream I'm drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said to scribespirare:  
> hii! i just stumbled on your SilverFlint fics and read them all and i'm partly dead partly something bc they're actually the sun, the moon, the world, so thank you thank you thank you for them! err.. maybe you'd like to do some more? if your answer is yes, just find 'In All My Dreams I Drown - The Devil's Carnival' on youtube and you'll get the idea (also it's just a very beautiful thing). xoxoxo
> 
> glittery-timetravel-chaos said to scribespirare:  
> I'm gonna give you requests until you grow tired of me ;P Silver is more then an decent swimmer, he draged Flint up from the water after all, and Silver can hold his breath for soooo long. I want Flint / Billy / crew to find out; either in a silly way or in a deadly situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double fill for these two prompts! Altho the second one is only tied in kinda loosely, sorry.

A shadow falls over him.

Years upon years of being on his guard has Flint awake in the blink of an eye, body tense, gaze searching out the abnormality in his surroundings. Not that it’s particularly hard to spot.

Thick, heavy moonlight is streaming through the windows into the cabin, painting the wood a haunted blue-grey, but there’s a long, lean shadow that Flint is caught in. The man who casts it is standing only a few feet away, swaying gently with the ship’s motion.

Even in the dark, even in shadows, Flint knows that form. “Silver?” he rasps, sitting up on his bunk and rubbing irritably at his face. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He can hear metal dragging against wood as Silver shifts his weight, his boot clanking loudly in the night.

“Sorry,” Silver mumbles, sounding tired and sheepish and just plain upset.

There’s a moment of silence, the two of them watching each other across the dark space, neither moving nor speaking. Finally Flint sighs and rubs at his face again. Honestly, what has he done to deserve this? He just wants to fucking sleep.

“What do you want?”

“I…” Silver starts, stops, glances away, looks back. “Nevermind.”

Before Flint can really do or say anything else, Silver shuffles out of the room again, presumably to go back down to the hold where he sleeps with the rest of the men in their hammocks.  

Flint watches him go, confused, before giving a mental shrug and laying back down. Maybe it’ll make sense in the morning.

But it doesn’t make sense in the morning. If anything, it makes less sense than it did the night before.

And then it keeps happening. Not too often at first, but every once and a while Flint will wake up to find Silver in the captain’s cabin after dark, standing or sitting or thumbing through Flint’s books like he can actually read in the moon’s light. He never has an explanation for himself, and he always leaves once he realizes Flint is awake.

Then it starts happening more and more often. Finally, after the third night in a row of being woken up, Flint has had enough.

This time, the moon is new and everything is darker than usual, sticky shadows clinging to every curve and angle. He wakes to find Silver sitting on the very edge of the bunk, like he’s ready to run at any second, hands clasped between his knees, gaze unfocused and distant.

Before he realizes Flint is awake, Flint reaches out and grabs his wrist, holding him in place.

Silver startles, instinctually trying to pull away but Flint’s grip is sure. After the initial surprise the quartermaster settles, looking tired but confused as he glances down at the fingers wrapped tight around him.

“Um.”

“What the fuck are you doing.”  It’s barely a question, no inflection, just a flat statement. Flint is tired of this, okay? Not to mention worried.

Silver tugs purposefully against the hold this time, but still Flint doesn’t let up. “You’re going to talk to me,” the captain warns.

Blue eyes regard him carefully, but eventually Silver nods. “Yeah, alright.”

Only then does Flint release him and sit up in the bunk, putting them on even ground. He raises an eyebrow, watches the way Silver avoids his gaze and clamps his lips tightly shut.

“Any day now.”

Silver huffs, and normally he’d roll his eyes or shoot Flint a glare, but he doesn’t seem to have it in him. So instead he curls in on himself, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

“I can’t sleep,” he says through his fingers.

“Yeah, I kind of noticed that,” Flint replies dryly. Still, no irritated or angry reaction from his quartermaster like he’d normally expect.

When it looks like Silver won’t speak again, Flint instinctually scoots a little closer. “John,” he says, and the use of Silver’s first name draws the man’s attention like a magnet. He blinks warily at Flint. “What’s going on with you?”

Silver breathes out, blinks slowly. “I can’t sleep,” he says again, quieter this time. “I always dream that I’m drowning.”

Which is just…what?

It takes a moment to process the words, and by then Silver is speaking again, monotonous but breathy. “Ever since my leg. They’re different nightmares, but the result is always the same. I’m in the water and I can’t swim because the boot is dragging me down, and no matter how hard I kick and struggle I can’t reach the surface. I was a great swimmer before everything happened, did you know? I dragged you onto that beach after all. But now…I just don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

It seems to exhaust Silver, because his eyes flutter shut, chin drooping towards his chest.

Flint finds himself biting at his bottom lip, considering. If he had known Silver was feeling this way, he would have sought his quartermaster out sooner so they could do something about it. Not that he knows what he, or Silver, should do about it.

But he does know one thing. He’s fucking tired, and if that’s true, than Silver must be _exhausted_.

Flint slides one arm around Silver’s shoulders and tugs, tumbling them both onto his bunk in a messy heap. Silver makes a little noise of surprise, tensing like he’s going to try and sit up again, so Flint tightens his arm to hold him in place.

He wriggles them around until he’s comfortable; Flint on his side, arm low around Silver’s middle, and Silver with his back to Flint’s chest.

“Why did you keep coming back here?”

Silver is silent for a moment, tense like rock against Flint. Eventually he admits into the darkness, “Your presence is…comforting.”

Which is what Flint figured his quartermaster’s response would be. Hence their current position. He tightens his arm again, draws Silver close and snug against him and presses his nose to the back of Silver’s neck. “Then fucking relax and go to sleep.”

In increments the tension bleeds out of Silver, his breath slowing, his heartbeat going steady and even. Flint relaxes right along with him, and is on the verge of falling back asleep when he hears a very quiet, “You’ll be here if I wake up?” _because of nightmares_ goes unsaid, but Flint still gives Silver’s middle a little squeeze.

“’Course.”

Silver sighs and takes that last step, falling into unconsciousness, and Flint follow right behind him.

For the first time in a long time, Silver doesn’t have any nightmares at all. The arrangement, in an unspoken agreement, becomes permanent.  


	22. Bakery/Tattoo Shop AU (3) +Sick!Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> morganleflay asked:  
> Hi! I absolutely loved your bakery AU! Could you please write more? I need a Silverflint fix these days, and that was absolutely perfect!!!
> 
> Anonymous said to scribespirare:If you still want Flint/Silver prompts, how about Silver with a fever? Love your caring Flint so much!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double fill. Hope this Flint is caring enough! =D

Silver Ink is empty.

Okay, that’s not exactly true. It’s just that Silver himself isn’t there, so it might as well be empty for all that Flint cares. Not that he doesn’t like Max or Muldoon but, well…they’re not Silver so no he doesn’t actually like them.

Flint stands at his counter and glares at the shop front, a rag gripped in his hand that he isn’t using to clean, just holding onto it. Max and Muldoon are the only two that have been in and out today, when usually Silver is the one to open in the afternoons. It’s making Flint twitchy as hell, and he doesn’t like it.

Especially since he’d texted Silver like two hours ago, when Max had first started opening, and he still hasn’t gotten a response. Which is pretty unusual, Silver replies quickly even when he’s working. The moment they’d exchanged numbers (mainly for hook up purposes) Silver was constantly sending him the stupidest shit; memes, bad selfies, his thoughts on particularly bad customers. Flint hates to admit it but those texts really do brighten his day.

Now though, he’s just getting radio silence. It’s worrying.

Another hour of pacing the store, staring sulkily out the window, and trying to distract himself by doing the dishes, Flint finally gives up. With a huff he unties his apron, shuts off the oven, and flips the store’s sign to Closed.

“Where is he?”

Max looks up, slightly startled, from the paper she’s bent over. There’s an incomplete piece of art on it, but Flint doesn’t have time to appreciate the line work, he’s got to make sure Silver isn’t fucking dead or some shit.

Max takes one look at him standing just inside Silver Ink’s front door and rolls her eyes so hard it looks like it hurts. She mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath, scribbles something down on another piece of paper, and holds it out to him.

“Take this and get out of my shop,” she tells him. Her gaze is already back on her art before Flint is even out the door again.

There’s an address on the paper, Silver’s he assumes. Flint pauses outside the store to plug it into his phone’s GPS and then gets to walking.

Silver, apparently, lives on the second floor of an apartment complex. Flint momentarily glances at the parking lot, spots a sleek blue and chrome motorcycle, and knows immediately it has to be Silver’s. But he doesn’t have the time or the inclination to admire the machine right now.

There are no elevators so he takes the stairs, double checks the number Max wrote down, and knocks on door 230. When that doesn’t get any kind of response, he pounds his fist against the wood more loudly.

A muffled crash comes from inside the apartment, a male voice calling out something Flint doesn’t catch, and then he can hear the sound of shuffling footsteps coming closer. A moment later Silver opens the door, hair a tangled mess and huge dark bags under his eyes. His face is red, eyes watery and a little blood shot, and even standing there at the door he starts to sway a little like he’s completely exhausted and maybe a bit disoriented.

“Flint?” he says, obviously having a hard time focusing on Flint’s face.

“Jesus Christ, are you sick?”

Silver sniffles, nose obviously stuffed up. “Yeah. What are you doing here?”

He’s…well, how does he say that Silver didn’t respond to his text and also didn’t come to the store and it scared the crap out of Flint? Answer: he doesn’t tell Silver, because it’s fucking embarrassing. So instead he pushes his way into the apartment and closes the front door behind him.

“You need to go lie down,” he tells Silver strictly. “Have you taken any medicine, eaten anything?”

Silver stares at him incredulously for a second, but is apparently too tired to try and fight with him. “I took some this morning, but I haven’t been able to keep any food down today so I haven’t bothered trying to eat.”

Flint frowns at that but doesn’t comment. “Go lie down. I’ll make you some tea or something.”

“I don’t have any tea,” Silver mutters, sounding petulant and childish, but he does shuffle off to another room so Flint doesn’t bother responding.

He takes a look around and finds the apartment is smaller than he was expecting. He’s standing in a tiny front hall, the only thing in it being a little table by the door with keys and mails on the top and what looks like a jacket tossed carelessly underneath. There’s a doorway to the left, where Silver went, and one to the right. A peek into the one on the right shows it to be a bedroom.

Flint follows Silver to left into a little kitchen/living room combo that’s cramped and messy but still looks relatively comfortable. The man in question is sprawled across an old beige couch, one arm thrown over his face and his feet up on the arm. The TV is off but the coffee table is littered with old dishes, tissues boxes, used tissues (fucking gross), and several books, so obviously Silver has been camping out in here.

There’s a comforter crumpled on the floor, so Flint picks it up and more or less drapes it over Silver’s prone form. Silver cracks open one eye to squint curiously at him but doesn’t comment.

Next Flint heads into the kitchen and rummages around in the pantries. There’s not a lot of fresh ingredients and a disturbing number of TV dinners, but there’s enough that Flint can whip up a light broth that shouldn’t bother Silver’s sensitive stomach.

He also manages to dig up some Ibuprofen and Nyquil, which he counts as a win. Filling up a glass of water, he has Silver take two of the Ibuprofen, and Silver stares at him the entire time.

“What are you doing?” he asks after handing the water back to Flint.

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

Silver’s eyes narrow like it’s a trick question. “Taking…care…of me?” he tries.

“Obviously,” Flint huffs, just barely restraining from rolling his eyes. He goes back to the kitchen to get started on the broth, and for a long time he can feel that blue gaze following him from counter to counter. Eventually though, he turns around to find Silver passed out, mouth open wide since he can’t breathe through his nose. It’s kind of gross, there’s drool on his chin and on the pillow he’s using, and he’s making these odd snuffling noises like his body keeps trying to breathe through his nose before it realizes it can’t. Rather than being disgusted though, Flint is just fondly amused. He shakes his head and goes back to cooking.

Silver wakes up about an hour later, and stumbles his way into the kitchen with the comforter draped over his shoulders and dragging on the tiles. He props his chin on Flint’s shoulder from behind, looking over him at the broth bubbling happily on the stove. It doesn’t really take an hour to cook, but Flint had taken his time so it’s still heating.

“That smells really good,” Silver mumbles, then snorts to himself, “is what I would say if I could fucking smell. Honestly though, you’re cooking for me?”

Flint side eyes Silver as best he can when the man is propped up against his back. “ No, I just decided to come over to your apartment to use your stove. I’m taking everything home with me. Of course it’s for you, idiot.”

“You remember the part where I can’t keep anything down, right?” Silver’s breath is hot where it hits Flint’s neck, and he has to hold back a shiver.

“Yes, I remember,” he snaps, rolling his shoulders to dislodge the other man. “It’s just broth, barely seasoned. If your stomach can’t handle this then I can’t help you.”

Silver laughs from behind him, the sound thick and distorted because of his congestion. “Well aren’t you just so sweet,” he says, and swoops in to kiss Flint’s cheek before Flint can do anything to stop him. He’s gone so fast Flint can’t respond, his voice drifting towards the living room as he calls out, “Come cuddle with me on the couch when you’re done!”

Flint blinks stupidly down at the stove and spoon in his head before he pulls himself together again. “Yeah fucking right!” he calls back. “I’m not catching your cold, forget it.”  

Silver just laughs again.


	23. artist!Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> glittery-timetravel-chaos asked:  
> Hey~ Can you write one where either Silver or Flint draws and one day they just go "For fuck sake, stay still! I have to get your profile right...." Because there are only so many times one can draw the ship/sea before it grows boring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t been feeling very great lately, but I’m finally writing again! It’s short, but hopefully still good. =3

__

Flint shifts his position for the umpteenth time, and Silver has to fight the urge to throw his pencil down and stomp his feet (..foot) like a child throwing a tantrum. He grits his teeth and forges on instead, until Flint decides to rest his head against a closed fist, completely changing his position all over again.

“For fuck’s sake!” Silver cries, unable to help himself. And he may also throw his arms dramatically in the air, but if so he and Flint are the only ones to know it. “Just stop fucking moving! There’s only so many times I can redraw your profile.”

Calmly and with no small amount of amusement on his face, Flint glances up from where he’s been reading at his desk. “Pardon?”

Silver bites his bottom lip. Probably shouldn’t have yelled that out loud, now his captain will never stop teasing him about it. But he can’t exactly take it back, either. “You heard me.”

“You’re drawing me?”

Protectively, Silver pulls his sketchbook against his chest. “What of it?”

“That’s…new.” Flint doesn’t look particularly upset, just slightly condescending and definitely still amused. “I didn’t know you drew.”

Silver puffs ups his cheeks before eventually admitting, “I picked it up recently.” Things get too boring while on the open sea for him to not have a few hobbies. And so what if Flint happens to make the perfect model, especially when the sun streams through the window and hits him just right, so that his hair is fiery bright and the strain eases from his features, leaving him looking young and impossibly handsome. And so what if Silver’s sketchbook is almost entirely filled with his attempts to capture that look. He hasn’t succeeded yet, at least not to his satisfaction, it makes sense to keep trying.

Flint’s broad shoulders shrug. “So long as you don’t ask me to pose.”

Silver can’t help his snort. “I’d never.”

The small curl of Flint’s lips is familiar and welcome. He goes back to his book, and after a moment Silver pulls his sketchbook away from his chest. Maybe Flint’ll stop fucking moving now.

Spoiler: He doesn’t.


	24. Scary movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Do you still take SilverFlint prompts? I hope so because your work is epic! How about modern AU - Silver and Flint watch a scary film?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed this cuteness lmao.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

Silver bounces on his feet, looking completely comfortable and domestic standing in Flint’s kitchen with his hair loose about his shoulders and his jeans slung distractingly low on his hips. He’s got on a simple t-shirt and his bare toes curl against the cool tile, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the counter as he watches the microwave avidly. For a brief second he breaks concentration, looking back at Flint leaning against the opposite counter behind him, and smiles. “It’ll be fun!” he insists and Flint just rolls his eyes.

He’s just not a big television person, alright? And that includes movies. To top it off, he’s just never seen the appeal of horror movies in particular. But Silver had been adamant and now that Flint’s agreed he seems positively gleeful, so Flint can’t regret caving that much.

The microwave lets out a series of beeps and Silver jumps to pull out his popcorn. He transfers it to a big bowl, pours a generous serving of M&M’s over it (it’s the _only_ way to properly eat popcorn he’d assured Flint) and then takes the bowl to the living room where he has everything else set up. Two large drinks, the movie already in the DVD player, and a large throw blanket on the couch.

“Almost perfect!” Silver declares and then ushers Flint onto the couch. Then he runs around the rest of the apartment flipping all of the lights off, until the only illumination is from the movie’s grimy looking title screen. It casts Silver in a soft, blue light as he bounces into place beside Flint, wriggling under the blanket as he gets himself comfortable with his popcorn and drink. Slowly Flint relaxes next to him, though he doesn’t bother with the refreshments.

Silver hits play and the movie starts.

Unfortunately, Flint really just isn’t a cinema buff, and he finds the plot mildly entertaining at best. He quickly realizes however, that the movie is peppered with these…jump scares, where something or someone pops out to the tune of a cresting crescendo, and damn near every time Silver jolts beside him. Flint himself sees them coming for miles, but apparently not his companion.

The first time, Silver nearly knocks over the popcorn bowl squished between them, and mutters a sheepish, “Sorry,” as he rights it. The second time, the empty bowl has been moved to the coffee table, and Silver ends up grabbing at Flint’s arm. After the third time he doesn’t bother letting go.

And as the tension continues to strengthen in the movie, the closer Silver gets until he’s practically huddled in Flint’s lap on the couch, occasionally hiding his face against Flint’s shoulder. Flint…well he’s certainly not going to complain. The movie isn’t of much interest, but the heat from Silver’s body is, as is the addicting weight of the other man leaning against him. Near the end he manages to gain the courage to wrap his arm around Silver’s shoulders, and Silver falls gratefully against him, now hiding half his face in Flint’s chest.

Maybe movie nights aren’t so bad after all. He could get used to this.


	25. Teach insulting Flint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Your SilverFlint ficlets make my day!!! :D A prompt for you: Silver gets into a fight with Teach because he insults Flint, despite being obviously outmatched. Take it where you will with your epic writing!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this isn’t that great of a response. I’m just trying to get my mojo back!

“Who, Flint? That idiot man isn’t fit to be a captain.”

Silver stills, those sure spoken words forcing his muscles to stiffen despite himself. He knows he shouldn’t be here, he knows he shouldn’t be caught. But he pauses anyways, because who the fuck…

There’s another voice, slightly familiar. Rackham maybe? Whatever they say, it’s lost to Silver, but he catches the next words easily enough.

“Have you seen his crew, his ship? I can’t believe half the new world is afraid of him, he’s nothing but a politician waving a pointy stick around like he knows how to use it.”

A pause, like Rackham disagrees but isn’t sure how to go about expressing that. Silver grinds his teeth, fingers clenched tight into fists because he’s pretty sure he knows who is talking now, and how fucking dare he. It’s one thing when the sailors talk down about Flint. It’s easy enough to show them the wrongs of their thinking, or at least intimidate them into silence, but another captain? That’ll stir up shit nobody fucking needs right now, and Teach should know better. Does he know nothing of the politics of Nassau? Or does he simply not care?

“I’m amazed he’s lasted this long,” Teach continues, sounding bored with the topic even as he keeps talking. “When I was around, he would have been run through or shot the day after he arrived. That’s how Nassau survived, weeding out the foolish and the weak. Men like him are the reason it’s dying now, with their pretty words and _morals_.”

It’s the first time Silver’s ever heard anyone accuse his captain of having morals, like it’s a bad thing. But regardless of that little curiosity, Silver knows he can’t allow this to continue. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have left the ship when he did, but he’s here now and he’s going to stop this.

Without warning, Silver comes around the corner of the alley, hard and fast. He’d fixed Teach’s position in his mind going off the sound and direction of his voice, and his knowledge of all of Nassau’s back alleys. He’s not sure why Teach and Rackham are conversing here, if they’re waiting for someone or what, but he doesn’t particularly care either. As soon as he can, Silver’s got his fists balled into Teach’s jacket and he’s got the larger, older man pushed up against the wall at his back. Surprise is the only reason he’s able to manage such a feat, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Listen up,” he says, low and vicious, and knows that his eyes are narrowed but bright. “You don’t know shit about who Flint is or what he does, okay? Don’t talk like you do, especially where any of the men can hear you because god knows the last thing we need on our hands right now is another reason for them to splinter. Things might have been different back in your day, but you’re going to have learn to adapt real fucking quick if you want to survive now. And yes, that was a threat.”

Hands close on his shoulders and drag him away, even though Silver is done and would have backed off on his own. He turns his head and sees Rackham staring back at him, eyes bugged out of his head like he thinks Silver just signed his own death sentence.

Silver shrugs, and glances at Teach again. The older man just raises an eyebrow at him, dark and intimidating, before sweeping his gaze away like Silver isn’t worth his time or attention.

“Get this boy out of here,” he growls, and Rackham marches him out of the alley.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Rackham is hissing quietly at him. “ _What the fuck do you think you were doing!?”_

In all honesty Silver’s not entirely sure. He shrugs his shoulders again. “I couldn’t let him talk bad about my captain.”

Rackham’s head falls back on his shoulders, eyes to the heavens like he’s praying for some deity for patience.


	26. Song ficlet (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> troublemakingrebel asked:  
> Still can't find the proper words to describe how awesome your song-ficlets are. Maybe you'll find it entertaining to write something a bit smutty and based on the Undisclosed Desires by Muse (especially, on these particular lines: I want to reconcile the violence in your heart / I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask / I want to exorcise the demons from your past / I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart [i imagine them being said or thought by Silver towards Flint])?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this is such a good song??? I love it alot. I didn’t tie it too strongly into the fic itself, but it was inspiration! 
> 
> nsfw below the cut

“Just…lie back.”

Hard eyes stare incredulously back at him, but despite the front Flint still relaxes slowly, oh so slowly, against the mattress.

Silver lets out a shaky breath, partially because he’s still adjusting to the feeling of having Flint inside him, but also because he’s nervous. About this, about what he’s trying to do.

But he wants it, and something tells him Flint wants it too.

They’ve never done this before. Oh they’ve fucked, loads of times. On the captain’s bunk, against the wall, on the desk, on the beach, in taverns and brothels, pretty much any place they’ve visited that has a flat surface has had some amount of cum splashed onto it. It’s not even bragging, they’re just insatiable when it comes to each other.

But despite all of their experience, it’s just _fucking_. Hard and fast and sometimes even a little violent. Not that Silver doesn’t like that, he loves it, but the soft slow thing? Yeah, they’ve never done that before. He doesn’t really want to call it making love per say, but it’s not exactly fucking either.

“Hold on,” Silver murmurs, and adjusts the way he’s sitting atop Flint. It changes the angle of the cock inside him, so that it brushes against something that makes lights flash behind his eyes. He sighs and drops his chin to his chest, gently circling his hips to keep that pressure up.

Beneath him, Flint is oddly silent, staring up at Silver like he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. His hands are on Silver’s sides, palms large and warm and familiar, but he’s not gripping or holding. They’re just there, a steady weight.

Silver closes his hands over top of Flint’s, and starts to pull his weight up onto his knees so that he can drop back down again. His breath is hitching in his throat and there’s something liquid hot stirring in his chest, something tender and desperate.

“Touch me,” he says, dragging Flint’s hands up to his chest, and slowly the other man complies. His fingers brush along Silver’s collarbones, drag along his ribs, twist and pull gently at his nipples, smoothing down his stomach but stopping short of his dick. Meanwhile Silver builds up a rhythm, bouncing on Flint’s cock with just enough speed to drive them both crazy, but slow enough that it’s new to them, strange.  

“See?” Silver asks, his own hands finding Flint’s face, smoothing over his cheeks, his stubble. “Isn’t this good? Didn’t you want this, too?”

The breath Flint drags in is ragged and surprised, but his wide eyes never leave Silver’s hooded ones, and he’s started to meet Silver halfway, thrusting up every time Silver’s hips come down. After a moment he answer, “Yeah,” voice raspy like he hasn’t been using it.

He reaches up with one hand, grabbing Silver by the back of the neck to guide him down into a kiss. There are no teeth or feverish tongues, there’s no biting or clawing, no drawn blood or urgent moans. Just the drag of lips against lips, the softest brush of tongues against each other, them sighing into the other’s mouth.

 _This_ , Silver thinks. _Use for violence for this, for loving me this way._

But he doesn’t dare say it aloud.


	27. Silver losing more of his leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> diddles5150 asked:  
> So a SilverFlint prompt, if you still would like them...Howell has to remove more of Silver's leg (eg. due to some trauma or his being stubborn and refusing to use crutches), and this time Flint is there with him when it is done - caring Flint! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeps i loved this prompt so much thank you

Silver’s hand in his is shaking, knuckles white, grip almost unbearable. Flint’s fingers are starting to go numb and he can feel his bones creaking and grinding under the skin, voiceless complaint of the force being exerted on them.

But Flint also isn’t paying attention to the pain.

He’d told Silver that this would happen, Howell had warned them both numerous times. But the damn idiot hadn’t wanted to take care of himself, wanted to pretend everything was fine when it really wasn’t. And now it was necessary to take off more of his leg, least the infection continue to spread.

In this moment Flint can’t help but be angry with Silver on top of everything else he’s feeling. If only because Silver is the one who landed himself in this situation in the first place; splayed out on a table, legs strapped down, leather between his teeth as Howell prepares his bone saw nearby. But Flint is also angry at himself, for not taking better care of his quartermaster, or forcing Silver to take care of himself.

Howell and the saw aren’t even in his line of sight but Silver is pale and shaking. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated with fear as his eyes flicker about the room. He’s got a death grip on Flint’s hand and the edge of the table, black hair splayed behind his head in a wild, curled halo. One pant leg has been shoved up well past his thigh, revealing the gory mess that is his leg. Howell said he’ll keep the cut below the knee, but if Silver continues the way he is than it’s inevitable that he’ll lose more.

When Howell steps up beside the table, apparently ready to begin, he doesn’t say a word. Flint can appreciate this. A jovial “Are you ready?” or even “Prepare yourself,” would have just made everything worse.

But it’s obvious Silver is still panicking. Flint can no longer feel his own hand and the bonds keeping Silver down are suddenly straining to stay in place. There are chords standing out on his leg, his throat, lips parted on near silent gasps as he murmurs, “No, no, no,” almost to himself.

Flint hates this. He hates everything about it. He’s got this urge to just…scoop Silver up in his arms and carry him away, keep him away from everything that’s ever hurt him. There’s a bright burning in his gut, a wish that this wasn’t completely necessary for Silver to even survive.

His own breathing gone shaky, knuckles just as white as Silver’s, Flint leans down and puts his free palm against Silver’s cheek. His skin is clammy and his eyes are rolling, but when Flint leans over him, says “Hey,” he visibly tries to focus.

“Look at me,” Flint continues, “watch me, alright?”

Silver gives the barest of nods, and Flint exhales as he leans closer, leans their foreheads together. This close they’re staring practically into each other’s eyes, but Silver’s breathing seems to slow a little, his body gone tense and still like the calm before a storm.

Howell makes the first cut, and the first rain of the hurricane hits.


	28. Song ficlet (6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> youngjohnsilver asked:
> 
> Prompt: silverflint, "some nights I swear there was magic in the air" (lyrics from the song Cat Piano by Seabear)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is for the three sentence drabble? if so i overwrote just a tad. if not then im sorry this is so short rippp

There were nights, nights when the sea and the sky were quiet, nights when you could barely feel the sway of the ocean beneath your feet, that Silver swore up and down were magic.

In the dark of those nights, the moon and stars and the lanterns aboard offered the only light. Just enough to illuminate blackness below and blackness above, their little ship suspended in a dark world of reflections and light and water.

But Flint didn’t believe in magic, and he saw nothing but fifty men trapped in a stinking vessel, limited rations, unwashed flesh. The only times he ever believed in magic, in beautiful things, soft and wondrous things, were those moments when he was curled up with Silver, on the brink of sleep or just waking up. Warm and comfortable, wrapped up together. That’s when magic existed, two bodies with synchronized heartbeats, breathing, two halves becoming a whole the way the ancient Greeks believed they were meant to be.


	29. Bakery/Tattoo Shop AU (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> If you're still taking SilverFlint requests: Baker and tattoo artist au that you've been doing, where John is always asking Flint to allow him to lick the bowl & spatula clean after Flint's made the filling for something sweet. (cupcake, eclair, turnovers....)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au is so popular??? I’m still trying to figure out how and why, but in the mean time have some fluff!

“C’moooooooooooooooooon.”

“Please?”

“Just a little bit!”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaassee!”

“….James.”

It’s the last one that finally causes Flint to stop the repetitive motion of his arm, whisk still in hand, back to Silver as the other man drapes himself across Flint’s shoulders. It’s only a brief pause, he’s back to work in a few seconds but Silver catches it anyways.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice suddenly softer than the persistent whining he’d adopted. “Do you like that? I never do use your first name, do I?”

He goes silent for a little bit, and Flint uses the opportunity to extract himself from Silver’s grasp and fill the waiting cupcake tin with batter. It had honestly been a mistake to invite Silver back into The Bakery’s kitchen earlier this morning, but Flint can’t bring himself to kick him out. First, Silver had distracted him with some pretty spectacular sex on one of the counters, which Flint then had had to disinfect thoroughly. After that he’d poked around and asked too many questions, and now he’s standing over Flint’s shoulder begging to get a taste of all the pastries. Flint hasn’t given in so far, but he nearly drops his bowl and whisk when Silver says, “James,” again, all quiet and earnest.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, and then when he’s scraped most of the batter out he turns and thrusts the bowl into Silver’s startled hands. He looks completely surprised and then his face completely lights up. “I can’t believe that actually worked,” he says, staring lovingly down at the streaks of chocolate on the bowl’s glass interior.

Flint moves past him towards his office, but pats Silver’s shoulder on the way. “Don’t get used to it, _John_ ,” he says, tone casual but voice low and quiet. He feels Silver go tight and tense under his palm before he slips away.

He’ll count it as a draw.


	30. Silver singing + Song ficlet (6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> troublemakingrebel asked:  
> Your Flint (especially caring about poor Silver) is the reason i keep coming back to read and re-read your works *0*/ Here's a silly song, the title says it itself 'Tweedle Dee', and the lyrics're like: Tweedlee tweedlee tweedle doe / I'm a lucky so-and-so / Hubba hubba honey dew / I'm gonna keep my eyes on you / Tweedlee tweedlee tweedlee doe. Just imagine Silver murmuring this (surely about cap'n) under his breath while cooking or smth, and suddenly Flint comes, and- what? It's up to you :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this prompt love! But here, have some cracky Silverflint fluff =3

“What on earth are you singing?”

Silver glances up, wooden spoon halfway to his mouth and bubbling pot before him on the stove. He’s been cooking since Flint got home a while ago, though Flint has no idea what his boyfriend is actually making. Whatever is, it’ll probably be delicious. Keyword being probably. Despite being decent in the kitchen, John has a tendency to get bored and try to experiment and it usually doesn’t end well for anyone involved. The cat, or Flint.

But he’s not usually a singer. He might hum sometimes under his breath, or talk to himself a little, even listen to music either with headphones or on speakers if Flint doesn’t mind the noise. And he’ll sing along then, quite loudly too if he really gets into it. But without music to back him up he usually refrains, and those are definitely lyrics Flint is hearing over there quiet as they are.  

Silver cocks his head to the side and sets his spoon aside, turning the stove down before he turns away from it entirely. “I was singing?” he asks, then his expression goes contemplative as if he’s racking his brain for the memory.

“You were,” Flint confirms, and after a moment John hums the tune again. “That’s it, what is it?”

Silver just snorts. “It’s some stupid song I heard on the tv today, a commercial or something, I can’t remember.”

“Must have really gotten into your head if you’re singing it out loud.”

That makes Silver laugh and he saunters across the kitchen to where Flint is propped in the doorway.

“Tweedle tweedle tweedle doe,” he sings, smile bright and amused. His voice isn’t great for music, but it’s not bad either. “I’m a lucky so-and-so.” 

He winds his arms around Flint’s neck and leans into him and Flint easily takes both of their weights, hands settling low on Silver’s hips.

“Hubba hubba honey dew, I’m gonna keep my eyes on you!”

Flint rolls his eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Laughing Silver leans in a little more and kisses the tip of Flint’s nose, then tops off the absurdity with, “Tweedle tweedle tweedle doe.”

It’s stupidly cute and stupidly attractive, so Flint shoves his boyfriend off of him to hide that fact. He scoffs again. “What are you even watching that’s got such stupid songs on it?”

Silver takes it in stride, rocking back on his heels and shrugging. “Told you I don’t remember where I heard it. I like the lyrics though, they’re funny and they make me think of you.”

Flint just levels him with a flat look. “I’ve changed my mind,” he says after a minute. “It’s not the song that’s ridiculous, it’s you.”

He stalks out of the kitchen to the sound of Silver cracking up again.


	31. Daemon AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
>  Hello! Just read ur ao3 fanfic about silverflint and it's awesome! Are you still taking prompts? I was thinking about something on the Golden Compass line - the daemons thing you know?Also I don't know why I think Silver would have a dog(or parrot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I love daemon aus!!! I asked the lovely @ellelan for help with coming up with some of them, so here are a few mentioned and not mentioned in the drabble. 
> 
> Flint - ginger cat  
> Silver - blue and gold macaw  
> Billy - german shepard  
> Vane - panther  
> Eleanor - mink/weasel (not sure which)  
> Max - black/silver fox  
> Rackham - rat  
> Anne - tazmanian devil (but maybe a boar??)

Navigating a pirate ship with daemons aboard it can be…difficult. You can’t exactly limit your crew to men with air or water based daemons, because there simply aren’t enough of them around. But you also can’t bring something like an elephant or a camel on board and not expect it to cause serious issues. Just look at Vane and his panther.

In a position of leadership, you also have to be careful about men with small daemons that can spy easily; how are you supposed to have a private conversation if there are literal ears in the walls of the ship?

Is this last reason that really annoys Flint about John Silver. His daemon isn’t a rodent, (not like Rackham’s beady-eyed rat), nor is it small enough to wriggle its way around the ship. But it is good at being not seen and is somehow always in the right place to overhear something important. Flint’s seen it happen, has watched the blue and gold macaw alight upon the rigging and lean down to hear the murmured words between two men. Later that day, Silver had had both of them punished for insubordination when there hadn’t even been any rumors yet.

That macaw is dangerous. Almost as dangerous as Silver himself.

Which is why Flint finds it so surprising that Lilianna likes the damn bird. Normally she’s cynical and hot tempered, but when it comes to Silver’s daemon she’s unusually lenient.

When Flint asks about it, Lilianna just sniffs delicately. “Mally is smarter than most. I like that.” And then she returns to napping in her favorite spot in the captain’s cabin, perfectly groomed fur turned fiery red in the sunlight.

But that strange encounter doesn’t even begin to cover the day Flint feels something unusual through his and Lilianna’s bond. He hasn’t felt anything even remotely similar since the days Lilianna used to sleep in Thomas’ lap, like a warm touch but coming from inside him rather than out. When he finally hunts his stubborn cat down, she’s busy grooming the macaw’s feathers with broad laps of her tongue, while the macaw, Mally, nips gently at Lilanna’s ears. Worst of all, Silver absently has his fingers running through Lilianna’s fur, barely touching the back of her head and neck.

Stiffly, Flint calls Lilianna to him and stalks off with her complaining in his ear.

“He felt nice!” she mewls plaintively, and then digs her claws into his arm because she’s a bitch like that.

“Knock it off,” Flint growls back at her, and then drops her on top of his desk. When he settles down to get some work done, she curls up as far away from him as she can get, still grumbling under her breath.

It doesn’t stop there. Every time he turns around, Lilianna is with Mally and Silver, following behind them, grooming Mally, one time he even caught her balancing one of Silver’s shoulder with Mally on the other.

Finally, he snaps. He corners Silver (relatively) alone and asks him what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

Silver just blinks wide, too-blue eyes at him, and then they flick away to something just behind Flint. He jerks a little but keeps himself from swearing when a warm weight settles on his shoulder with a rustle of feathers and a quiet squawk. It feels…it feels weird, especially when Mally grabs several strands of his hair in her beak and pulls gently.

It’s intimate to touch another person’s daemon. Too familiar. The only people he’s ever allowed to touch Lilianna before are the Hamilton’s, and it’s been a long time since he ran his fingers through the downy feathers of Thomas’ owl, or held the light weight of Miranda’s meerkat.

Mally feels heavy on his shoulder, her beak clicking lightly as she plays with his hair. Her claws are pricking him even through his shirt, and this close she carries the familiar scent of bird; dust and feathers and air.

Silver smiles brightly. “I thought it was obvious,” he says, drawing Flint back to their conversation. “I’m courting you through your daemon of course.”

Lilianna buts her head against Flint’s leg and starts to purr.


	32. Bakery/Tattoo Shop AU (5) + Song Ficlet (7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17 November 2016  
> Reblog  
> parrotsinlondon asked:  
> I should like to respectfully present a prompt for the continuation of your wonderful Bakery/Tattoo Parlor AU. It'd be a song based one. Combo! I was listening to Ellie Goulding's "On My Mind" today and the line "You wanted my heart but I just liked your tattoos" immediately made my brain go to your fic! Yes, its an angsty line (this is Flint we're talking about!) but you can take it wherever your writer heart leads you :p Also cake. There should be some cake. And smut. I'll shut up now. Thank u

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t actually get to any cake or smut, but I did do angst! Even tho it hurt my very soul lmao. I’m more of a hurt/comfort or fluff person. 
> 
> also i filled this ages ago and forgot to post it here on ao3 lmao sorry

Before now, Flint’s never really thought much about his bed, his bedroom, his apartment. But suddenly, they don’t seem…adequate.

The bed is soft enough, but it’s not decadent or plush. It also feels too big in this moment, which is another complaint Flint’s never had before. If it were smaller, Silver would be forced to sleep tucked up against him, their bodies intertwined.

And the room. The apartment. If this room had windows, early morning light would be filtering through them. Silver’s sleeping form would be edged with it, covered in soft shadows everywhere he wasn’t lit up all cream and, well, silver. Flint can picture it in his mind’s eye, the way Silver’s tattoos would go hazy and grey against his skin, the way the light would pick up all the minute details in them as well as in Silver’s musculature. Highlighting the curves and dips and ridges of the back turned to face Flint.

Instead, the room is dark. The only light comes from the barely open door, from windows in another part of the apartment. Silver’s form is heavy and dark, his curls a messy black crown, his tattoos black and indistinct.

Before Flint can spend more time pondering it though, Silver begins to stir. After a moment he sleepily rolls over, one hand rubbing at his face as he smiles a little at Flint.

“Mornin, love,” he mumbles, and then yawns.

Flint seizes up. “Don’t call me that,” falls from his lips, acidic and harsh, before he can stop it.

It ruins whatever good morning vibe Silver had had going on, and he frowns in confusion. Flint’s already feeling guilty about it, but he doesn’t stay, doesn’t try to explain himself. Just hauls himself out of bed with jerky movements and starts to get dressed.

“I’ve got to get to the Bakery,” he snaps, even as Silver sits up, rubbing at his mused hair and looking devilishly good with his bare chest and the blankets feathered about his waist.

Neither of them mentions it’s his day off.

Maybe, part of his brain says, maybe wanting a new apartment, wanting to tear down his own and rearrange it, just for the pleasure of viewing Silver in the early morning light? Maybe that’s love. And maybe it says, maybe it’s okay Silver wants to call him that. It’ll help lead them get to actual I love you’s right?

Too bad that part of his brain is so very, very tiny, and so very, very easy to crush.


	33. Pillow Talk (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> old-long-john asked:  
> Would you fancy writing some soft and gentle silverflint? Pillow talk in the dark, perhaps? With fingers brushing through hair or over warm skin? Something very unlike how fraught and tense canon is right now would be lovely. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy would I ever!!!! Love me some fluff

It’s the middle of the night when he wakes up.

Well, he’s pretty sure it is anyways. It’s dark, he’s groggy as hell, and he can’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. The bedroom is silent and warm, moonlight just faintly streaming through the window, and there’s an arm strewn low across Silver’s waist.

He twists, turning towards Flint. In the semi-darkness, he can only make out a few features but he’s immediately caught but just how…relaxed the man looks. His face is smoothed out, expression at-ease in a way it never is during the day, mouth slightly parted, breathing even and slow. It’s not even Silver’s fault, he just can’t help himself. Even at his most vulnerable Flint is never this open in front of Silver.

So he reaches up and touches the sleeping face, trailing his fingertips over raspy cheeks, full lips, up into the ginger hair that is just starting to grow back. God, he misses the tiny ponytail Flint used to wear.

Of course though, James being James, he startles awake like somebody punched him.

His pale eyes blink blearily, body tense, one hand wrapped around Silver’s wrist. Silver gives a couple of seconds to figure out what the hell is gone, and then the tension starts to bleed from Flint’s body. Not all of it of course, but a good deal of it.

“What are you doing?” Flint rumbles, voice thick and sleepy as he releases Silver’s wrist.

Silver grins and wriggles closer, plastering himself along Flint’s side. “Nothing. Just watching you sleep.”

“Creepy,” Flint mutters. His eyes slip closed, one arm slipping around Silver again and pulling tight. It’s a warm, comfortable weight and Silver sighs happily.

“Yeah, but you still love me.”

The corner of Flint’s lip twitches, thought whether it’s an attempt to smile or snarl Silver isn’t sure. Does it matter? He leans up and kisses that spot and it makes Flint grimace again for a brief second.

“Go back to fucking sleep,” he mutters. “It’s too early for this.”

Silver can’t help his little laugh, but he snuggles in closer, head on Flint’s chest, and complies.


	34. I can't lose you. Not you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> SilverFlint prompt, if you will have it. "I can't lose you. Not you." - Flint (to Silver).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SORRY BUT I PAIRED THIS WITH 4X01 AND THE RESULTS MADE MY HEART HURT

It’s stupid really, to hold onto it. The thing has virtually no value, just a dirty piece of cloth, once rich in color now washed out and dingy. All it does it take up space in his pocket and make him suck in a sharp breath every time he reaches in and feels it.

But he can’t help it. The damn thing is like an addiction, he couldn’t throw it out before and mostly certainly can’t throw it out now.

Tucked away in Miranda’s old bedroom, he can admit that much to himself at least.

He holds the fabric in both hands, a long, thin strip. Silver had used it for a long time to tie his hair up, keep it from falling in his face. The only reason Flint has it is because John had accidentally left it on the desk in the Walrus’ office, destroyed now, and he’d gotten a new one not much later. At the time, Flint had just stuck it in his pocket with the vague thought of throwing it out. But then it had stayed, and stayed, and he’d grown stupidly fond of the idea of holding onto a piece of Silver somehow, no matter how insignificant.

And then Silver had gone down with the ship, damn him.

It’s like he’s purposefully trying to throw Flint’s life into turmoil at every single turn.

Not that James would have it any other way. He leans over, hands pressed to his face, that little bit of cloth soft where it brushes against him.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “Not you. Not like him.”

A knock sounds on the door, making James jump. He scowls, curses, tucks the fabric back into his pocket. Pulls on the Flint persona as he opens the door and faces his men, Silver pushed once more to the back of his mind. Constant, but ignored.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/) is open for requests.


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